The Weight Of An Oath
by JoaniexJony
Summary: Leave no man behind" was John's Oath, but how far would he go to rescue a friend? Serious Shep whump, some whump for Ronon too with team and Carson angst and friendship. Now complete
1. Chapter 1

Summary: - "leave no man behind." was John's oath, but how far would he go to rescue a friend?

Lots of Shep whump, some Ronon whump too with team and Carson friendship. Set after season 5.

Warnings: - Violence and a little bad language.

Disclaimer: - Not mine. If it was, I would still see the guys every week.

I should mention that in chapter 1 (only) there is mention of events that took place in my first fic "Betrayed." But this is a stand alone story, so you don't need to read it first…or at all! Many thanks to my wonderful beta shepsgirl 72 who works out my kinks, even though she's busy with her own writing! - But all mistakes are mine.

THE WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 1

Sheppard could scarcely contain a shudder as he walked through the 'gate into the picturesque town of Aldova. The place hadn't changed since that fateful day he came here over a year ago. It was a pretty place back then, still was, with cobbled streets and brightly painted stone cottages, providing a backdrop to the thriving small town. Children's laughter filled the air, as they played hide and seek behind brightly coloured stalls, selling anything a body could need, provided of course they could afford to buy. But today trading was the last thing on his mind, unless of course it was for information.

Teyla saw the tension etched on Johns' face, his jaw clenched shut, and couldn't begin to imagine the anguish he must be feeling being forced back to a place which held so many bad memories. The wooden post where he had suffered their version of 'justice' still resided tall and unrepentant in the centre of town, while at the top of the hill overlooking all it surveyed, stood the imposing grey stone two story magistrate's office. It seemed to Teyla, as they approached the building, it was lying in wait for the unwary or unlucky to fall foul of the law just as her friend did not so long ago.

John had sworn never to return here. The physical pain caused by the thick leather whip which had flayed open his back paled in comparison to the mental anguish caused by his subsequent imprisonment. In Aldova he was brought to his limits, both physically and mentally. Only the intervention of a good friend had saved his health, as well as his sanity. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and if it meant breaking open some scarcely healed old wounds to find his friend, then so be it.

* * *

Magistrate Garvis was pleased, but also surprised to see John Sheppard walk into his office. The first time the two men met, John had been sentenced to three months in the prison which he used to run. Their relationship had grown into an uneasy friendship of sorts, and in the end they had parted on good terms. However, if he was honest, Garvis never really expected to ever see John again, at least not in Aldova.

Coming forward to shake his hand, Garvis smiled. "John Sheppard, it's good to see you."

"Hi, Garvis, or should I say, _Magistrate _Garvis. Congratulations. It's good to know the councillors have some sense. Anyway, I would like to introduce you to a couple of friends of mine. Teyla Emmagan and Rodney McKay. Anyway, how is that son of yours doing? Is he still teaching you math?"

Garvis laughed. "He is at that, and I know Simeon will be sorry to have missed you. Unless of course you will stay and eat with us?"

John respected Garvis. While a prisoner under his roof, the man had always been fair, but to stay for dinner…

"Thanks, Garvis, but I'm afraid this isn't a social call. I need some information about the prison on Lorus. Can you help?"

Garvis slowly stood up from behind his desk, and walked over to a polished wooden sideboard in the corner of the room. In the centre of the sideboard, beside a framed picture of a blonde haired boy, sat a tall decanter with six ornate glasses. He took the decanter, and poured out four glasses of red wine. After handing round a glass to each of his guests, he sat down wearing a grim expression.

"Yes, I know it. In fact, my predecessor used it a great deal. It is notorious for its corruption and cruelty. Why do you want to know?"

_John drained his glass, and saw his concern mirrored on the face of his friends._

"Our team mate, Ronon Dex, went to visit a friend in Baltron nearly four weeks ago and disappeared. From the intel I've received since, while they were there, both men were arrested and imprisoned in the Lorus penal colony. What the charges were, or the sentence they've been given, I don't know as the authorities refuse to discuss the matter. But I _do_ know Ronon, he's a good man and apart from maybe getting into a bar fight, he would never harm anyone…not without good cause. I went over to see where the prison was, discreetly of course," _H__e didn't mention the cloaked jumper "_but it's a very well fortified building, set in the middle of a large stretch of water so it would be problematic mounting a rescue. Plus, I don't really want to get into a pissing match with these people…unless of course I have to. Do you have any contacts there?"

The look on Garvis face told John the story he didn't want to hear.

"I'm truly sorry to hear about your friend, John, but I must tell you there is nothing I can do. The warden in Lorus is a man called Rolas. He is a cruel, ruthless man, well known for having no regard for human life. The only thing that interests him is money, and Rolas will not do anything for anyone unless they are prepared to pay. Many of the prisoners sent there are never seen or heard of again. It is rumoured some inmates are sold into slavery, or else forced into the fighting ring for sport, with Rolas reaping the profits. However, as I said before, this is only rumour...What I do know for sure is anyone brave enough to speak out against the atrocities has not lived long enough to tell their story. As for the authorities, well…they are either too scared, or too corrupt to put a stop to his regime. I don't know which.

"My predecessor, as you know, was also a corrupt man, and he sent many of our prisoners to Lorus when our jail became full. After I took over the job, unaware to begin with of the situation there, so did I. That was until a few months ago, when a young man I sentenced to six months for theft did not return at the end of his time. When I spoke to Rolas he told me the prisoner had been killed in a tragic accident, but did not provide any details. I was suspicious of course, but without proof, I could only ask for the body to be returned to allow the family to bury their dead. However, he failed to return the remains and all my attempts to contact Rolas since have been unsuccessful. So from that day onwards, no matter how full our jail became, Lorus did not receive another prisoner from Aldova, nor will they, at least not while I'm in charge."

The silence in the room was palpable. John swallowed. He had tried plan 'A', and it wasn't goanna fly.

There was a plan 'B' forming in his head, but he really didn't like it at all…

Sheppard looked Garvis straight in the eye. "How would you feel about sending one last prisoner to Lorus?"

Rodney jumped up and got in Sheppard's face. "Nooo… Oh no, Sheppard! You can't be serious? I know you're worried about Ronon, we all are. But you can't go there, not after everything Garvis has just said? Besides, Woolsey wouldn't allow it."

Teyla placed a hand on John's arm." Please, John. I know you want to rescue Ronon, but this is far too dangerous. He wouldn't expect this of you."

Sheppard looked at his team, touched by their concern. But regardless of his own safety, he wasn't about to leave Ronon to rot in jail. "Leave no man behind" was an oath he'd kept since becoming a raw recruit all those years ago. No matter what it cost him personally or even professionally for that matter, he would do whatever was necessary to get his friend home, or die in the attempt.

Garvis didn't quite believe what he was hearing at first, then realised with sickening clarity, the plan forming in John's mind.

"I'm sorry, John, but I will not agree to send another soul there, especially someone who I consider to be a friend."

John really didn't want to do this either, but..."Look guys, Garvis, if any of you can come up with another plan to rescue Ronon, I would really like to hear it. If not, my plan is to get inside the prison and find out where he's being held. However, if for some reason I don't find him by the time our good friend Colonel Caldwell is back in town, he can beam me out of there. I know the plan has flaws, and I'm not crazy about it either, but it's the only one I've got."

Sheppard looked at each person in turn, turmoil written on their faces, but no one said a word because they knew he was right. They all realised mounting a rescue attempt on the prison would start a full-scale battle. It could cost countless lives, some of them their own people, and that was a price too high. So if it meant he had to endure some hardship and pain, or even sacrifice his own life, at least it would only be one life compared to countless others. Trying to lighten the mood a little, he smiled. "Okay…so what are you going to send me 'down' for, Garvis?"

Garvis started to pace the room. "This isn't funny, John, not at all. If I send you to Lorus with too light a sentence, Rolas will be suspicious as it has been many months since I sent any prisoners there. And, once you do leave, I cannot guarantee your safety as you will under the control of a brutal regime. I really do wish you would reconsider."

John walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Garvis, I know I'm asking a lot of you, and I accept all responsibility for whatever may happen. But this is something I have to do, and I really need your help. Please…for my friend?"

Garvis sighed. "Very well, John. I just hope neither of us regrets this."

Sheppard patted Garvis on the back. "Thank you. Now tell me, what is the least sentence I could receive, without raising Rolas suspicions?"

"Common assault carries a sentence of twelve to eighteen months. Or a repeat offence, such as theft would carry a similar sentence."

"So, Garvis, which one would you suggest?"

"If I were Rolas, I would be more inclined to believe the repeat offender charge. It would give me a good reason to send you to a different prison, and it would appeal to his vanity as it would imply Aldova's prison hadn't worked as a suitable deterrent."

John remembered only too well the harsh regime in Aldova's prison. Why anyone would even consider committing a repeat offence, was quite simply mindboggling.

"Okay, John Sheppard 'gentleman' thief it is. When do I leave?"

TBC…

* * *

Please, please review. I love to know what you think, and I reply to every one.


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings:- Violence and a little bad language.

Disclaimer:- Not mine…wish it was.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta Shepsgirl 72 for her help and suggestions. All mistakes are mine.

Thanks for all the great reviews so far...hope you like chapter 2.

THE WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 2

Sheppard said his goodbyes on Atlantis.

Teyla handed him the clothes Kanaan had given John to wear, and hugged him so tightly he could feel the colour rise in his cheeks. As for Rodney, well…he went into full "scientist" mode. When John walked into his lab McKay refused to look at him, supposedly engrossed in some project on the bench until Sheppard went to leave. Looking up, miserable eyes finally met his "You'd better come back, Sheppard...It's not that I'd miss you or anything, but someone needs to keep Woolsey under control." John smiled to try and reassure his friend, but who was he kidding? Rodney's face only reflected what he himself felt inside, dread…fear. But none of it mattered now as the die was cast.

For a while he thought Woolsey was going to fight him on this, and John had prepared his resignation, just in case. In the end, though, Sheppard was surprised when the former IOA bloodhound agreed to his plan, albeit with reluctance. It just showed how much the bureaucrat had changed since coming to Atlantis, his rulebook getting a little smaller day by day.

John knew it was crazy, and didn't quite understand it himself, but he didn't want either Rodney or Teyla to see him being led away in chains. It was almost as if he felt ashamed, which was insane really because this was a trumped up charge. Or maybe deep down it was a matter of pride. Either way, regardless of his reasons, this was something he wanted to do alone.

The 'gate room was eerily quiet this early in the morning as he prepared to leave, with only a skeleton staff to secure and manage the 'gate. No one really took much notice of his bare feet and strange attire, which was kinda weird, but at least it gave him a chance to have one last, lingering, look around at the only real home he'd ever known in his entire adult life. It seemed like only yesterday when he'd arrived in Atlantis, to begin the greatest adventure of his life. John's eyes wandered up to the balcony, which held so many memories, but the one which was foremost in his mind was Elizabeth…

He still missed her, the woman with the intense eyes and soft brown curly hair. Elizabeth was the only person, apart from his mother, who had ever believed in him. Sure, they'd had their arguments, but looking back it was she who saved him from a banal, mundane life without purpose. Without Dr Weir, he would have gone to seed in Antarctica. Instead she fought his corner, and thanks to Elizabeth he became Military Commander of this fine base, with a loyal compliment of staff under his control and instead of the solitary life he used to have, John had friends.

But what had he given her in return…nothing. When it came right down to it, he, the _great_ John Sheppard, had failed to save the one person who gave him a life and a future. There wasn't a day went by it didn't tear him up inside and that, if nothing else, made him more determined than ever, not to lose another friend, even if it cost his own life.

Dragging his feet and thoughts to the present, he signalled Chuck and instantly the brilliant blue of the event horizon exploded into life. Sheppard saw the beautiful reflection shine off the marble floor, hoping it wouldn't be for the last time. Forcing his chin upward and his shoulders back, he disappeared into the blue, straight into Aldova and the waiting arms of two guards carrying chains.

* * *

The first thing John noticed about Baltron was the smell. The overwhelming stench shrouded the air like a fog. He didn't know where it came from, but the place was filthy, so maybe it was the dirt and grime mixed with the smell of rotting fish, creating a toxic combination. He choked as the foul air filled his lungs, and would have covered his mouth, but thick metal chains weighed down his wrists and the guards held both arms secure, until they relinquished their charge.

One thing was for sure, Baltron was not going to feature in any good tourist guides. Run down wooden shacks, seemed to be where people lived and worked here. And instead of a proper road, there was only mud, which covered everything and everywhere, including his feet. Garvis had warned him not to wear boots, as the guards would take them and sell them for profit. However, even to have their protection for a short while would have been worth it, as rats scurried about in plain sight and John just prayed they had eaten today. After walking though the rough shanty town for nearly an hour his feet were freezing cold, so it was _almost_ a relief when they finally arrived at their destination. As a military man, he noticed the local jail was probably the only concrete structure in the entire place, built one story high with no windows, and only one solid wooden door. It looked secure, and needed to be, for it housed all the prisoners headed for the penal colony on Lorus.

Within minutes, the guards from Aldova removed his chains and handed him over to the authorities in Baltron. Sheppard rubbed his aching wrists, but this small freedom was short lived as two guards appeared, grabbed his arms and cruelly jerked them behind his back, before binding them tightly with rope. Three times the rope was looped around his wrists, each bond tighter than the last, until his fingers became numb. Finally, once they were sure their prisoner was secure and no longer formed a threat, John was marched past the wooden reception desk, and down a narrow dingy corridor into an office halfway along. The dim lighting made it difficult to see, but once his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Sheppard saw a large muscular man, about his age, with cropped blond hair, sitting behind a stout wooden desk.

The guards stopped, handed over John's papers to the man, then stood back as he looked up at his latest charge with distain.

"My name is Warden Rolas, and you are fortunate to see me here today, as I do not always find myself in town to _welcome _my new prisoners. I can see from your papers, you have been sentenced to eighteen months for repeated crimes of theft against the people of Aldova. At the request of their Magistrate, you are being sent to the penal colony of Lorus to serve your sentence. However, what Magistrate Garvis does not realise, is there have been certain _changes_ made to our exchange agreement since we last spoke. In short, Mr Sheppard, as you are serving your sentence under my charge 'I' will decide what is a fitting punishment for your crime.

"As it would appear your previous incarcerations have been ineffective, it is my decision to increase your sentence to five years hard labour, which will also include regular, rigorous corporal punishment. In other words, tomorrow you will feel the bite of the whip across your back, but this will only be the beginning. Because of your repeat offences, this punishment will also be repeated. Therefore, John Sheppard…as a serial criminal, it gives me great pleasure to sentence you to five lashes each month for the duration of your sentence. I do this in the vain hope a life of pain and discomfort will deter you from committing further acts of thievery in the future. Is there anything you wish to say?"

There was a lot Sheppard wanted to say, but now was not the time, unless he wanted to make his bad situation even worse. The only consolation being he wasn't going to be here next month, let alone for five years. But he always did have trouble keeping his mouth shut…

Pinning a winning smile on his face, he said, "And I heard you were a hard man, Warden. Folks sure have that wrong."

Rolas laughed, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm so glad you feel that way, Mr Sheppard. And I hope you will still find your little joke just as funny after you receive tomorrow's punishment, which thanks to your _hilarious_ _outburst_, I have just increased to ten lashes. Guards…take this prisoner away to be fitted for chains, then have him board the ship for transportation."

Sheppard had always known his _brilliant_ plan would end up causing him some discomfort, but another whipping…John felt sick at the very thought of it. But he was tied up, about to be chained, with no means of escape. Besides…where would he go? And what about Ronon? Was his friend even still alive? This was _his_ plan after all, and he just hoped it wouldn't be him needing rescued. If only he'd just chosen the common assault charge instead…

* * *

The last time John had seen a blacksmith at work had been many years ago, when the visiting blacksmith came to shoe the horses on the Sheppard estate. The luxurious stables in his old home were a stark comparison to this small crude shop. The ceiling was so low steam from the forge gathered in the timber rafters and the acrid smell of sulphur caught in the back of his throat. The place reminded him of the countless old western movies he'd seen as a kid, except this blacksmith fitted people, not horses and instead of horseshoes', there was a variety of metal restrains of all sizes hanging on the wall, ready to be adapted to the next hapless victim.

A young boy, who looked no older than fifteen, looked terrified as the old blacksmith fitted thick manacles around his wrists and ankles. It was obvious the kid was trying to be a man about it, but his lower lip was trembling and Sheppard smiled over, trying to catch his eye. But the boy just sat there looking miserable, staring into space. John desperately wanted to grab the kid and high tail it out of this hellish place, but what could he do? Nothing. Within minutes the old man was satisfied with his handiwork and the boy was led away. The man turned to John; it was his turn next.

The guards pushed him onto a rough narrow wooden bench, and the old man, using a narrow leather strap measured his ankles, before taking a pair of two-inch wide manacles off the wall and setting to work. John couldn't help but admire, with ghoulish fascination, the skill it took. After moulding the hot metal to the correct size, he thrust it into a wooden tub filled with water. The red hot metal hissed when exposed to the cold liquid, and a plume of steam permeated the air. After a minute, he took the finished product over to Sheppard and clamped them firmly around his ankles. The metal was uncomfortably warm against his skin, but they were a snug fit. John was now the _proud_ owner of some new ankle jewellery, and escape was looking less likely with every minute, as a thick eighteen-inch chain was attached to each bracelet, which meant walking would be a challenge let alone anything else.

Sheppard knew it would be his wrists next, but as the ropes were killing him and he'd stopped feeling his fingers some time ago, at least he would gain some relief.

The old blacksmith came over. "How long are you in for, son?"

John caught the old man's gaze "Five years."

The old blacksmith sighed. "I'm sorry to tell you that's a life sentence on Lorus, as I don't know anyone who's lived more than three."

Suddenly, the old man nodded to the guard and without warning John was pushed to his knees. The guard looped a rope around his neck and pulled the other end taught, before finally tying it securely around his ankles. Sheppard was choking, trussed up like an animal and couldn't move a muscle. Both legs and arms were bound behind him, and he was powerless to stop whatever was going to happen next. That mystery didn't last long however, as the other guard ripped open the front of his tunic. John watched, trying to hide his fear, as the old man took a branding iron off the wall and thrust it into the forge's fiery depths.

The blacksmith came over and knelt down to his face, regret etched over his wrinkled features. In his hand he held a thick piece of leather. "You'd best bite down on this boy. I'm real sorry about this, but I promise to be as quick as I can."

Sheppard was too stunned not to accept the gesture, but his heart was racing, blood roaring in his ears as he tried desperately not to panic. He could only watch, as the blacksmith went over to his forge, and removed the long, slim iron from the fire. It had a three inch square attached at its end, glowing white at first, before dulling down to a bright red hot number '5'. John tried to move away, but he was tied up tight as a drum, and the guards strong hands clamping down each shoulder, were almost redundant.

John looked up at the blacksmith, a silent plea in his eyes…_don't do this. _The old man looked back with regret, then white-hot pain tore a garbled scream from his throat as the brand lingered on his chest. Sheppard could feel wetness fall down his cheeks, as wave upon wave of pain consumed him, the rancid smell of his own burning flesh making him gag, taking him to hell…Then the brand was ripped away, taking layers of skin and hair in its wake, leaving behind a deep, red, ragged looking '5' carved into the centre of his chest. The rope was removed and Sheppard fell to the ground like a stone, too shocked even to speak, unable to stop a low moan escaping his lips. Cold water drenched his body and the fiery pain dulled down for all of a moment, until the short relief was over and the pain returned with a vengeance. John was in agony, unable to focus, and it took both guards to drag him back onto the bench and hold him steady as the old man prepared to measure his wrists.

Glazed eyes sought out the blacksmith's, and with a dry, hoarse voice he asked, "Why?"

As the old man untied John's wrists, he looked down sadly "As I said before, boy, I'm sorry about this. But I have my job to do. All prisoners sentenced to more than two years get the mark. It helps Warden Rojas indentify those who have nothing to live for, as not many survive more than that on Lorus, and it makes them dangerous."

Sheppard was only vaguely aware of having similar restrains fitted to his wrists, before being dragged out of the shop, down the muddy street and towards a large black sailing ship. It started to rain, softly at first no more than a light drizzle, then becoming heavier with each step, flattening his hair and soaking his skin, but it felt wonderful against his chest. As they made their way towards the gangplank, John looked up. The towering masts seemed to go up forever, as they pierced the grey, stormy sky, and the wide canvas sails caught by the strengthening wind, made a whipping noise as they swayed back and forth. Whipping…the sound brought it all back to him. John knew he was in shock and the untimely reminder that the following day would bring yet more pain made his stomach heave. Falling forward, strong arms stopped his decent into the deep murky water as he wretched, empting out the last decent meal he was going to get, until the shakes took over and he was dragged downwards, into the bowels of the ship.

TBC

Please, please keep reviewing. They are what keeps me going, and I really do reply to every one.


	3. Chapter 3

Warnings: - Violence and a little bad language

Disclaimer: - Not mine. Do you really think I would stop these boys from coming on TV?

Many thanks again to my fabulous beta Shepsgirl 72 who is really patient with all my typos!- All mistakes are mine.

And thanks to all of you for your reviews, they really do mean a lot!

WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 3

Sheppard was awoken by the sound of retching. He moved suddenly, only to regret his haste, hissing through clenched teeth when the pain from his chest made itself know. Lying back against the small wooden bunk, John took a couple of deep breaths before slowly raising himself up against the wall and looked into the gloom for the poor soul who, by the sounds of it, had just lost their lunch.

The first thing John noticed was he was either suffering from a bad case of vertigo, or the ship was moving, a lot…When he'd been thrown into the small cell last night, too out of it to notice much, he seemed to remember being helped into bed by someone…the same person who had bathed his wound and poured water down his throat. As the cell only contained two bunks, it looked as though it was his turn to return the favour, because as a veteran of countless 302 flights this rough passage, choppy as it was, didn't trouble him at all.

Dragging himself off the bunk, John gingerly stood up only to nearly hit his head off the low beams of the ship. Bending over carefully, trying not to aggravate his wound, he shuffled towards his 'roomey', who was spilling his guts into a bucket at the front of the cell. As his eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior, he could just about make out their cell was one of a row, attached to the others by thick metal bars with the damp wooden exterior of the ship forming the back 'wall'. Running down the middle was a series of wooden poles, (masts he presumed) and on each one hung a single oil lamp barely capable of illuminating this dark, dank windowless hole. Looking across the way, he spotted more cells identical to his, about half of them full, some with women sobbing quietly. The wooded floor felt wet against his feet as Sheppard reached the man's side. But this was no man, although there was something familiar about him. He got to his knees and recognised the young boy from the blacksmiths the day before.

John placed his outstretched hand against the boy's back, and started to rub small circles. "I find that deep breaths can help."_ No answer._ "Look…how about I help you over to your bunk, and put the bucket nearby, at least then you can be more comfortable?"

The kid looked up, totally miserable. His face was white as a sheet, damp hair plastered over skin slick with sweat. "Thanks, mister… am I going to die?"

Sheppard could have smiled, but the kid looked dreadful. "No, kid, it just feels like it. Once the ocean calms down a bit you should start to feel better. In the meantime, up you come."

John grabbed the boy's arm, and helped him into bed, covering him with his own blanket. Ripping off a piece of Kanaan's already ruined shirt, he soaked it in the bucket of water and placed the cold compress against the kid's head. "What's your name, kid?"

Closing his eyes, the boy started to relax. "Torren."

Sheppard smiled. "I'm John. Remind me when you're feeling better and I'll tell you about the Torren I know."

Easing himself down onto the floor, John stretched out his legs and sat back against the ship. He still felt like crap. Turning to look at the kid, he saw the boy seemed to be sleeping at long last. What the hell could this young boy have done to deserve being put in chains and sent to prison? Sheppard was determined to find out. In the meantime, the water may not look fresh, but it was wet, so he helped himself to a long drink to soothe his dry throat, and dunked the cloth into the water to bathe his wound. It hurt like crazy, as the rough material caught the raw jagged edges of the burned flesh, but he wouldn't be much help to Ronon if an infection took hold. Sheppard stopped and looked at the angry red mark for the first time. To be branded like an animal was just plain wrong. He felt angry and nauseous, but not from the movement from the ship.

John sensed Torren was awake and turned round to see the kid staring right at him.

"Are you okay, Mister?"

John smiled. That sounded familiar. Here was this _child_, sick as a dog, asking _him_ if he was alright! Wait till he got home and told McKay that one. "I'm _fine, _Torren. And by the way, thanks for taking care of me last night, you're a good man. Now how about you close your eyes and try to get some sleep?"

Exhausted eyes stared back at him. "If you're sure. Thanks…John."

Sheppard watched as the young man closed his eyes, then moved over to his own bunk. Lying back, he thought he would take some of his own advice and try to sleep. But as the day progressed, so did the storm. As the ship listed from side to side, all he could hear was the constant sound of retching and moaning from the other inmates. After a while, even his stomach started to feel a little queasy but at least there was one good thing to come out of this miserable weather…There would be no whipping today.

* * *

It was hard to tell how long the storm raged in the windowless hold, but it seemed like days. After a time, Sheppard was pleased to see Torren's colour start to improve, as it seemed the boy had finally gotten his 'sea legs' at long last.

The crew finally made an appearance, too. Swarthy looking seamen went round each cell, changing their buckets and providing the first meal since boarding the ship. Torren started to devour the half-decent stew, but stopped after only a few bites. Sheppard could see from the anxious look on the boy's face, that something was bothering the kid. "What's up, Torren?"

Torren couldn't take his eyes off the floor "Have you ever been whipped?"_John guessed the look on his face gave the boy his answer._ "How painful is it?"

Sheppard didn't like the sound of that question, so he put down his bowl, and went over to sit beside him. "I never did ask you, Torren. What did you do to get sent to Lorus?"

"One of the guards tried to attack my sister, so I got my father's old gun and threatened him with it. It wasn't loaded, hadn't been used for years, but he didn't know that. Anyway, it gave Aimee a chance to get away. But the guy was real mad and brought me before the Magistrate. The coward told him it was _me_ who attached him, and he sentenced me…" _Torren gulped."…_he sentenced me to six months hard labour and five lashes. Is it really painful, John? Please tell me, I have to know."

John was horrified at a society that would sentence _anyone_, let alone a _kid,_ to be whipped. He put his arm protectively around the boy's shoulder. "What did your father say, Torren?"

"Both our folks are dead. It's just been me and Aimee for two years now."

Sheppard had only been in Baltron for a short time, but the more he saw and heard, the more he thought the place deserved to be razed to the ground. However, that wasn't going to help Torren in the here and now. What could he do?

"Tell you what, Torren, how about I try to speak to the Warden on your behalf? I'll tell him what happened and see what he says. It might not work, but it can't hurt to try."

The boy smiled. "You would do that for me? Are you sure? Thank you. Thank you so much!"

Sheppard pinned a smile on his face, as the boy expected it. However if Rolas did accept his proposal, he wouldn't be smiling again any time soon.

Standing outside the Warden's quarters, Sheppard was grateful to at least get this far. The seaman guarding the cells took a liking to John's clean, if ripped shirt and the two men did a swap. The way he saw it, the filthy shirt would be history after the whipping anyway.

A distant voice bellowed from inside the cabin called. "Come in…"

Rolas, looked up, surprised to see him. "What can I do for you prisoner? If it's leniency you're after, you should know I'm not a merciful man."

Sheppard decided to get straight to the point. "Thanks for agreeing to see me, Warden. There's a young boy in my cell who has been sentenced to six months and five lashes for a crime he didn't commit. He was accused of assault by one of your men, which is ludicrous if you just look at the child. The fact is Torren never harmed anyone; he just threatened the guy who tried to attack his sister." _He could see Rolas getting bored._ "Anyway…the thing is, I know I can't give you proof of his innocence, but I want to take the punishment on his behalf."

Nothing about the human condition surprised Rolas, but he had never received an offer like this one before.

He looked at Sheppard, "Well, well. A compassionate thief. A brave one, too, willing to take another man's punishment. You do surprise me, Sheppard. Perhaps there is more to you than I initially thought. However, if I do agree to your proposal how could it possibly benefit me?"

John couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Do you mean apart from the pleasure of beating the crap out of me?"

Rolas laughted. "What a quaint expression…But come now, Sheppard. I can do that anytime I like while you are under my control. So let me think…what arrangement can I come up with?"

Sheppard knew he was making a deal with the devil, and had half expected it to go down this way. But by the look on Rolas face, that man was enjoying this _way_ too much, and one thing was for sure, good health and wellbeing were _**not**_ going to feature in his immediate future…if he had one.

The warden sat back on his chair, eyes like ice, and looked at John

"Here is what I am prepared to do. The boy will still have to serve his sentence, but I _will_ allow you to take the physical part of the punishment on his behalf, in addition to five extra lashes, for taking up my valuable time. Also, as it would appear the punishment I handed out in Baltron was insufficient for you, I will also increase your monthly whipping to _ten_ strokes per month. That should be enough, even for your obvious love of pain. Once we arrive on Lorus, you will also take up the post of my personal slave.

"It was my intention for you to serve a few months, maybe a year of your sentence, then sell you to the highest bidder, as for some unknown reason some of the ladies seems to like your _type_. However, you intrigue me, Sheppard, and I would like find out what makes you 'tick'. So until I get bored, or you die, your purpose in life will be to carry out my bidding. I'm not going to ask if you agree to these terms or not as that hardly matters does it? So as you said it yourself, I'll look forward to seeing 'the crap getting beaten out of you' tomorrow."

Rolas watched as Sheppard gave him a cocky grin and was led away. Suddenly, a delicious thought came into his head. Oh, yes…That would be amusing…

"Guard. Bring back the prisoner."

John looked at Rolas, who had a wide smile on his face. If his situation wasn't already bad enough, it looked as though the other 'shoe' was about to drop.

"I have another proposition for you prisoner, if you choose to accept it. I myself hardly think it's possible, however If you manage not to cry out during your punishment, I will agree to quash the boy's sentence and send him back on this ship as a free man. What do you say?"

Sheppard knew from experience how brutal whipping was. Even with his high pain threshold, he had given way to cries of agony during the last few strokes in Aldova. But what choice did he have? Torren must be given his chance of freedom, so John would have to dig deep, and try to keep it together for the boy.

"I agree. But If I fail, the boy must still go unpunished as we agreed."

"Of course. What do you think I am? There will be no repercussions to Torren, win or lose."

TBC

Please, please review! – I love to know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Warnings:- Shep whump ahead and maybe a little bad language.

Disclaimer: - Not mine, wish they were.

Thanks for all the great reviews so far. A special thanks to my wonderful Beta Shepsgirl72 for her great suggestions and superior grammar! - All mistakes are mine.

WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 4

They say time flies when you're having fun, but the same is also true when you don't want the sun to rise on another day.

Torren was so grateful to John for his reprieve he failed to notice the older man's silence for the rest of the night. Sheppard was not a religious man, but his mother had taken him to church every Sunday as a child. That night, for the first time in years, he prayed…not to God, for he didn't feel he had the right. But to his mom to put in a good word on his behalf, not to take away his pain but to help him bear it, for the sake of the boy.

Eventually morning came and the moment he had been dreading arrived. The door to the hold opened and three seamen walked in. The smaller of the men read out a list of ten names, and one by one the prisoners sentenced to be whipped, seven men and three women, were chained together before being led out onto the deck. The early morning sun blinded him, making him stumble and it took a long moment for his eyes to adjust to the light revealing the scene in front of him. There, standing before the mast, was a very large man and in his hands, a vicious looking whip.

John watched as the first unfortunate soul was led forward to be punished. The man's sentence was declared… five lashes. His wrists were released from his chains only to be secured to restraints attached at either side of the mast. The chains were adjusted, pulling his arms taught, so his feet barely touched the ground. The quartermaster was the man in charge of the whip, built like Ronon, but with none of his compassion. John watched as the large man splayed the whip through his fingers ready to begin and looked at the instrument of pain with fascination, as this whip was something new. When he had been lashed before, it was with one long piece of thick leather with a knot at the end. But this…he counted nine pieces of cord, about four feet in length, with three knots in each piece attached to a stout braided leather handle. John cringed as he saw the quartermaster throw back the whip, to herald the start of a hellish day.

Each lash left a mass of deep bloody cuts, tearing screams of agony from its victims as their skin was torn apart. Rage filled his heart as they cried out, unable to do anything about their plight, unable to even help himself. Hours passed as he watched, lash followed lash as the row of victims got gradually smaller. Some prisoners had five lashes, others seven. One unfortunate ten. Watching the women being punished was the worst thing he'd ever seen. Seaman dragging them in tears, begging for mercy, forcing them onto the mast. But the whip didn't care who was before it, treating both men and women alike, except for their screams…they tore into his heart. Sheppard couldn't bear it. He wanted it to stop, wanted to tear off his chains and take their torturer apart limb from limb. It was horrendous to watch, as the women screamed until pain stole their voice, leaving them like rag dolls, barely alive, lying limp against the mast. One thing was apparent, this bastard took pride in his work, uncaring of who was before him, as between each lash all nine cords were untangled, shaken out ready to begin again as he prepared to make each strike count…

* * *

Sheppard saw Rolas appear at the wheelhouse, just as he was led to the mast.

Anger replaced anxiety as he was secured shirtless to the mast, revealing to all who watched that he was no novice to the whip. His chest ached, but the pain was good as it would help him cope with what lay ahead. Taking slow, deep breaths John closed his eyes, knowing nothing could prepare him for the first strike. His sentence was read out. Fifteen lashes…What? John looked around and saw another man with Rolas. It couldn't be?...Ronon! He was alive! And about to see him getting whipped…crap. He looked away, relieved his friend was alive and seemingly okay for now, unlike himself. Turning away he closed his eyes again, trying to compose himself, and waited for the pain to come.

He heard the first strike, the thick heavy whip making a whooshing sound, before a wall of pain tore his flesh apart, making him gasp, the sheer force pushing the air from his lungs. _Concentrate John…you mustn't make a sound. _He was breathless, as each agonising lash was more powerful than the last, weakening his resolve, making him struggle to stay silent as overwhelming pain surrounded him like a fog. Tears fell down his cheeks as the punishment was relentless in its brutality, searing pain raging through him as the whip tore him apart, blood streaming from his wounds. His body quivered as the whip flayed open his skin again and again, tearing fresh wounds apart, mutilating his body as the screams died in his throat. Rubber legs collapsed beneath him, and he lay limp against the mast, glazed eyes filled with pain staring into space…_please,_ _mom, help me…_. Then at last it was over, he had done it…Torren was free.

* * *

Ronon was arrested along with his friend, Belus, an old army buddy, after a drinking session got a little out of hand.

The local Magistrate acting as both judge and jury sentenced them to six months hard labour on Lorus, and five lashes of the whip. Ronon accepted he was partly to blame for the fight, but thought the sentence was harsh. However if he did have to go to prison and serve the full term, he at least wanted to let Atlantis know where he was. As time wore on, and he was refused permission to contact his people, it soon became clear the charge was just an excuse to hold them, and the last thing the authorities wanted was to let either him or his friend contact home.

The whipping was painful, but doable, and Ronon knew Sheppard would be searching for him so he settled down to do his time, and wait on Lorus for the rescue, which he knew would come. He could almost hear Sheppard telling him to stay out of trouble, and he had, but trouble had a way of finding him, and this time was no exception. When the big Satedan was brought into the Warden's office, Rolas actually smiled when he told him the real reason for his arrest. He wanted strong powerful men like him to fight in the ring. The corrupt official made a lucrative income by operating a fight club, pitting the inmates against each other, while he took bets from the local dignitaries, making a killing in profits while the inmates got nothing apart from blows.

In the short time since coming to Lorus, Ronon had seen good men seriously hurt or killed as they were sent into fight again and again, but Rolas didn't care. When the warden first told him his fate, he had at first refused to play the man's game, but in the end he wasn't given a choice. It was made clear if he didn't fight, his friend, who had lost a leg in the battle to defend Sateda, would suffer the consequences.

He soon became a reluctant champion, and therefore a favourite with Rolas. When, during his last fight his wrist was broken, Ronon was surprised the warden returned him to Baltron for the best possible treatment. The doc there wasn't Beckett or Keller, but he did a passable job of setting the break. However, the voyage back to Lorus had been rough so far, so when the sea calmed and he came out on deck for some air he was shocked to see Sheppard, being chained to the mast ready to receive a punishment of twenty lashes. _What_ _the_ _hell!_…Rolas saw the look of surprise on his face, and knew he recognised John. Ronon realised he must tell the evil bastard something, and it better be good…

* * *

John lay unmoving, deathly still on the deck, eyes glazed with pain just staring into space. Ronon was concerned since his buddy didn't even seem to recognise him, but he quickly masked his feelings as Rolas was watching, and if the sadistic warden suspected that John was more than the acquaintance he admitted to, they would both be screwed…

Rolas was angry at losing his bet. Who knew Sheppard had this much strength? The warden now wished he had delivered the full twenty lashes he intended, but Ronon recognised the prisoner as an ex soldier who fought with him against the Wraith, and suggested Sheppard would be more useful to him as a fighter. Rolas reluctantly agreed, so he relented on the five lashes that were not part of his sentence, to give Sheppard a chance to recover in time for the next tournament. However, that was as much of a concession as he was prepared to make. Rolas disliked Sheppard. The man was arrogant, daring to speak to him like an equal, and needed to put be in his place. So he had enjoyed watching his pain as each lash of the whip flayed open his back, a little more damage caused by each stroke, and even if he hadn't cried out, the man was left scarred for life which was some consolation. On the bright side, although the prisoner had won the bet, his stoic performance proved he could be a profitable addition to his fighters, so for now at least Rolas would take _some _care of his investment.

"Ronon, I'll have him taken to your cabin where there is a spare bunk, and someone will come with supplies so you can tend to his wounds."

Sheppard's back was a mess. Deep, ragged, bloody cuts took the place where skin used to be. Ronon was relieved his friend had finally passed out from the pain, and hoped John stayed that way, for a while at least. He knew he must clean John's wounds to keep them free of infection, which looking at the state of his back was going to take quite a while. If John was conscious while he did it…well it wouldn't be pleasant for either of them. Almost as if on cue, he heard a low groan.

"John, buddy…it's Ronon. Try to lie still, I need to get you cleaned up and it's going hurt, but it has to be done." But Ronon had just started to clean away the blood when…

"Agrrh! Ples…stp…hrts." John's ashen face was covered in sweat, his body shaking with pain, hands balled into fists.

Rolas hadn't provided any pain relief for Sheppard, but Ronon knew his pal needed something, at least to take the edge off. If he could even get his hands on some rum.

He headed towards the door. "I'll be right back. Try to pass out…or something."

The galley door was open and there didn't appear to be anyone about, so Ronon walked inside, right slap bang into the cook.

The guy wasn't a young man, but his muscular build belied his age. The gnarled face stared at Ronon as if to say _what the hell are you doing here? _The Satedan decided to take a chance and play it straight.

"My friend's in pain. He took fifteen lashes out there today and didn't say a word. Look… I don't know why he did that, and it couldn't have done him any good, but I do know he's suffering now and I need something to help him."

Ronon knew he was taking a risk. If the cook wanted to he could report him to Rolas and the game would be up. But the seaman walked over to a locked cupboard and brought out a small brown bottle along with a large earthenware tub.

Handing over the bottle, he said, "Give him ten drops of this, and he'll be out like a light. Once you've cleaned the wounds," _he_ _handed Ronon the tub,_ "put this on his back twice a day. It burns at first, but soon numbs down the pain. Rolas is a hard man to work for, and all of us have been whipped one time or another. I can tell you from experience, these will help."

Ronon looked at the seaman, puzzled. "Why are you helping him?"

"He's a good man your friend, a brave one, too. Rumour spreads fast aboard a ship, and we all heard your friend asked to take his young cellmate's punishment for him. But then the warden thought he would be smart, and challenged your friend to a bet. If he stayed quiet throughout the punishment, the boy would go free. No one, least of all Rolas expected him to do it but well…your friend surprised us all. Made my heart glad to hear that cold-hearted tyrant was put in his place. Your friend… Sheppard's his name? Well he's alright in my book. Anything he needs, just ask."

John felt like he was suffocating. Even a simple action like breathing in and out caused incredible, burning pain to ripple in waves down his back. He could feel tears sting his eyes and felt ashamed. Ronon had been trying to help, and he couldn't even be a 'man' about it and take what needed to be done. Not only that, he hadn't even asked how his friend was.

The door opened and footsteps approached. In a weak voice, so unlike his own, he asked, "Ronon, is that you?"

The Satedan was glad to hear Sheppard was at least more lucid. "Yeah, it's me. Turns out you have some friends in this boat. The cook gave me something for your pain."

"Really? How come?"

Ronon knelt down so he could look John in the face. "Something about taking extra lashes for a kid and staying quiet to buy his freedom?"

"Yeah…well. That's a story for another time. Look, I'm sorry about wimping out before, just do what you need to do. It's really good to see you, buddy." _He noticed Ronon's bruised face and broken wrist for the first time now. _"Are you okay?"

"Better than you are, Sheppard. By the way, thanks for the rescue." _He looked at John's back._ "Was this part of the plan?"

John watched as Ronon put something in a glass before raising his head to help him drink. Whatever it was tasted bitter. That small movement caused a soft groan to escape. "Arghh…let's just say the plan has a few flaws."

Whatever was in the glass might not be Keller's good drugs, but Sheppard could feel his eyes getting heavy and the pain start to ease, before finally darkness took him.

Ronon waited until his friend's breathing became deep and steady before resuming his task. A couple of times, John's body tensed, but thankfully he didn't wake up. When he'd finished, Ronon covered Sheppard's wounds with a loose, clean cotton sheet, before covering his pal with a blanket, hoping his actions would be enough to stop him from going into shock.

Satisfied, he had done as much as he could, Ronon lay back in his own bunk, the aches and pains of his last fight still lingering. Only Sheppard could come to rescue him, just to get into deeper trouble himself. McKay was right about him, he did have a hero complex. It was just like John to take the kid's punishment and that stupid bet. Ronon sat up as he saw John's eyes open, unfocused, glazed with pain only for a moment before his lids closed again and he went back to sleep. He was worried for his friend; Rolas was a bad ass plus a sore loser, who would want payback for sure. Ronon had always known Sheppard would come for him and he had. Question was...who was going to rescue them now, and would they come in time?

TBC

Please, please keep reviewing! It really means a lot when folk's review and it keeps me going.


	5. Chapter 5

Warnings: - Violence and a little bad language. Also there is a 'non' character death in this chapter.

Disclaimer: - Not mine, if it was I would still have the guys in my living room every week!

Thankyou so much for all the lovely reviews, you guy's are really great! A very special thanks goes to my wonderful beta Shepsgirl 72 for her suggestions and putting up with all my typo's. All mistakes are mine.

WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 5

John felt like his back was on fire. Burning flames of agonising pain spiked through him, although at least it wasn't the raging inferno of before.

He saw Ronon fast asleep in the next bunk looking weary and beat up. Sheppard didn't want to wake him, but he would have to take care of some urgent personal business _very_ soon. However even that simple act was easier said than done, as when he tried to get up the pain made him gasp and John realised, damn it, he wasn't going anywhere on his own today.

"What are you trying to do, Sheppard?" Ronon yawned as he sat up in bed, looking at his friend.

"Sorry, buddy. Didn't mean to wake you, but I need to use the uhm, ya know, and I can't seem to get up."

Ronon came over and sat on the edge of his bunk. "Yeah, getting the hide whipped off your back will do that. Give me a minute to check the damage first and then I'll bring the bucket over to you. Okay?"

Sheppard was already feeling worn out. "Sure. Thanks, Ronon."

John hissed through gritted teeth as the cotton sheet was removed from his back. It had stuck to the dried blood overnight, and removing it was a bitch, although he knew Ronon was being as gentle as the situation allowed. Once Sheppard's back was exposed, Ronon could see that although the wounds were no longer bleeding, the welts left by the whip looked angry and sore, with some of the deeper jagged cuts already infected.

Sheppard was breathing hard, the colour leaving his face. "What's the verdict, buddy? How am I doing?"

"Look, Sheppard. Rolas doesn't know we're friends, and I'd like to keep it that way for both our sakes. If he finds out, he'll use our relationship as a weapon to get us to do what he wants. That's how I got into this mess in the first place. I didn't want to fight in his tournaments, let alone become his _champion,_ but I had no choice when he took Belus away and locked him up. Told me if I wanted my friend to stay _healthy_ I had to fight, so here I am, a _freaking_ puppet having to do what I'm told."

"I'm sorry, Ronon…So what exactly _did_ you tell him about me?"

"When I came out onto the deck and saw you about to be whipped, I told him we were in the same unit together, and suggested you would be more useful in the ring. I _might_ have mentioned it was a shame you were getting such a severe punishment 'cause you wouldn't be fit for anything after twenty lashes. Rolas actually agreed with me, and I hoped he would at least halve the punishment, but you really must have pissed him off big time, Sheppard, 'cause he barely gave way on the five strokes and really looked like he was enjoying himself watching you whipped."

"So that's why…I wondered… Thanks, buddy. As for Rolas, he is definitely _not_ one of the John Sheppard fan club. Obviously didn't appreciate my sense of humour, don't know why. I just hope Caldwell gets us out of Lorus soon, while I still have a back left."

Ronon looked at John. "Sheppard I'm sorry I got you into this, but you should know I'm not leaving without Belus."

John saw a determined look in his friend's eyes. "Well…I'll just have to think of another plan then, won't I?"

The big Staedan shook his head and glanced at John's back. "Just hope it's better than the last one."

Sheppard smirked then winced. "Funny… Just help me up now…please?"

By the time Ronon had helped John see to his needs and got him back lying down again, his CO's pallid face was covered in sweat and he could tell by John's clenched jaw, the man was in a lot of pain. Ronon hadn't intended to knock Sheppard out again so soon, but as Beckett would say, sleep was the best medicine_. _Therefore, after giving his friend another dose of the cook's serum, he was relieved when John's eyes closed so he could treat his wounds without causing further pain.

* * *

John was only just back on his feet, when the guards came into the cabin and placed restraints back around his wrists. He felt like crap, with an aching back and a low-grade fever that just wouldn't quit. However as far as Rolas was concerned, John was to spend the remainder of the voyage back in the cell and would be treated like every other prisoner, until he proved himself in the ring. Ronon pretended to be unconcerned about his departure, even appeared glad to have his privacy back, but as Sheppard walked stiffly out the room trying not to wince, the Satedan was worried about his friend, and wondered when he would see John again.

Leaving the relative comfort of the cabin for the damp, dark hold was depressing at the very least, but there was a silver lining as John got to make sure Torren was okay. Thankfully the kid was still unharmed and really glad to see him, but the hug…John could have done without.

"Ow…Argh!…easy there buddy."

The young boy's eyes filled with tears. "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, John. Are you alright? When you didn't come back with the others I thought…I thought you were dead."

John could have kicked himself. He had been in so much pain, he'd forgotten to get word to the boy he was okay…well, more or less.

"It's me who should say sorry, Torren. I should have let you know I was going to be okay." _He looked around the room at the other victims._ " How have things been?"

"It's been really horrible. They all came back crying, moaning with pain, and there was blood everywhere, but they were just dumped in their cells and no one came to help them. It was only when one of the women got really sick a couple of men came down to help. But all they did was clean up the blood and that poor lady…she…she died the following morning. It was awful! I asked the guards if I could help, I wanted to do something, but the warden wouldn't let me."

Sheppard realised he had Ronon to thank for his current condition, because although he didn't feel great, he was a damn sight better off than these poor souls. John wanted to kill Rolas for treating innocent people like this. Because, from everything he had seen and heard, in his book, there was no doubt of their innocence now. It was obvious to him there weren't many criminals on Lorus, if any at all, just slaves for selling in the markets, or fodder for the ring. But while he was chained up and beaten up, there was nothing he could do about their plight at the moment. However, he could do something about the other warning bell going off in his head. Torren…Why would Rolas keep the kid in chains when he was going home anyway? Surely he wouldn't back down on their bet? John felt sick to his stomach. He knew he wasn't up to another confrontation with the sadistic warden at the moment as his back still hurt like crazy. But it looked as though he didn't have a choice, since the ship was due to dock in Lorus tomorrow and Torren _was_ going to return with it to Baltron.

John stood outside Rolas door. _This is really getting old._ "Come in…"

Rolas didn't even bother looking up this time "What can I do for you _this_ time, Sheppard?"

"Good morning, warden, I know what a _busy_ man you are, so I just wanted to check Torren's travel plans home have been arranged. After all, I did win the wager."

The warden looked up with mock surprise. "I will admit you surprised me, Sheppard. However the wager was for twenty lashes and you only received fifteen. I am quite sure you would have screamed well before the twenty strokes were delivered otherwise."

Sheppard walked over to the desk and slammed his chains down hard against the wood, standing rigid as the guards pulled him back. In a low, controlled voice, scarcely above a whisper he glared at the warden.

"Look, Rolas, I came to your little _whipping _party. Got all chained up and _everything. _It's not my fault _**you**_ decided to leave early! Or let me put it another way. It's come to my attention that rumour is rife aboard this ship and _**everyone**_ knows about our bet. So…unless you decide to whip every member of your crew, what do you think will happen when the ship docks in Balton? Once word gets out the man who _runs_ the gambling ring on Lorus reneged on a bet I would image that just _might_ affect your business. What do _**you**_ think? Just consider this a friendly warning, _Warden,_ 'cause if that boy doesn't go home tomorrow, someone will be sure to let slip that juicy piece of gossip over a few ales. Am I wrong?"

A lesser man would have baulked at the look of sheer hatred on Rolas face. But John knew he had gone past the point of no return and whatever happened, payback would be a bitch.

"You really don't know who you are dealing with…do you, Sheppard? It seems I have no choice but to release the boy, do I? But know this…you will pay for your impudence."

"Yeah, tell me something I _**don't**_ know."

"Guards, take him up on deck…and ask the Quartermaster to bring his whip."

John knew he had a high tolerance for pain, but another vicious whipping right now, so soon after the last one, would cripple him for weeks and might even kill him. He needed to be fit enough to help Ronon escape and get justice for these people, and if he was half dead, or just plain dead, that wasn't going to happen. Sheppard wasn't scared of pain, well…maybe a little, but he would suck it up if he had to. Surely there must be something he could do? _C'mon,_ _John. Think_! Within minutes he was up on the deck alone with one guard, while the other went to get the Quartermaster.

It wasn't a good plan, but right now it was the only one he'd got. As the guard unlocked the restraints from his wrists, Sheppard used the element of surprise and threw a left hook into his gut, followed by an upper cut to his face. His punches didn't quite carry their normal strength, but were enough to make the man drop like a stone. The deck was quiet this time of the day, but not quiet enough, as someone quickly raised the alarm and he saw men running towards him.

Grabbing the keys from around the guard's waist, he quickly unlocked the chains around his ankles. His heart was thumping and his palms sweaty as the footsteps got closer. John climbed up onto the guardrail and looked around, then all the way down. As plans went, this one _really_ sucked. He took one more look around the deck, hoping for a miracle, but only saw a big man with a whip. Closing his eyes, John took a deep breath and did the only thing he could under the circumstances, jumped head first into the deep, blue sea below.

TBC

Please, please keep reviewing. I love to read them all and they keep me inspired!


	6. Chapter 6

Warnings: - Violence and a little bad language.

Disclaimer: - Not mine. Seriously…do you think I would take these two guys off the screen?

Thanks again for all the reviews, I love to read them all. A special thanks to my beta Shepsgirl72…what would I do without you? All mistakes are mine.

WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 6

Ronon didn't want to believe Sheppard was dead. When Rolas had told him his _foolish _friend jumped overboard rather than face another whipping, Ronon wanted to take the warden apart piece by piece, but somehow he managed to keep his anger under control, at least for now. Fortunately, the warden was so incensed at being denied _justice_ from the prisoner who had dared to humiliate him, he failed to notice Ronon was also angry over the plight of a mere acquaintance.

Later, lying on his bunk in the gloomy cabin, Ronon hoped John was still alive. After all, he was the best swimmer on Atlantis and they hadn't found his body so maybe, just maybe there was a chance he was alive. But who was he kidding? The fall alone could have killed him, or at the very least left John badly beat up, and his friend wasn't in the best shape to start with. Even if Sheppard had survived, the ocean was so cold he wouldn't have lasted long out there without help. Why did he do it? _Because he didn't have a choice…_Ronon knew in his heart Rolas would have whipped John to death, and Sheppard would have know that, too. So rather than give the warden the satisfaction of seeing him suffer, he'd taken the only other choice available, to jump and perhaps survive another day, or at least die on his own terms.

This was all his fault…Sheppard's blood was on his hands. His CO and best friend had carried out this _**stupid**_ plan to rescue _**him,**_ and in the process John had been branded, brutally whipped and forced to jump before that SOB Rolas whipped him again. Guilt ate away at him like a fungus. Frustration and rage filled his heart. He wanted revenge against the man who had forced his friend to make an impossible choice, but if he did…then another friend would pay the price. Ronon felt helpless and that feeling didn't sit well with him.

Ronon looked at his broken wrist with annoyance and wished he could fight today, but why should some other man pay the price for his failure? Anger threatened to choke him. He, the _**mighty **__**warrior**_ Ronon Dex, had failed to keep his friends safe, failed even to keep himself out of trouble. Some good had to come out of John's sacrifice, it must. He would find a way to free himself, Belus, and rid the world of the evil warden. But right now, Ronon knew grief and remorse clouded his judgement and he couldn't think straight. To get justice for the man he loved like a brother, the Satedan knew he would need to control his anger, and think up a plan Sheppard would be proud of.

* * *

The adrenaline junkie in him was exhilarated by the jump into the ocean, but the moment John slammed into the waves, memories flooded back to that brutal shuttle landing. Each muscle felt as thought it was being torn apart, and the pain in his chest was a sure sign that at least one rib was either bruised or cracked.

Stunned by the impact, Sheppard plunged deeper into the icy depths until a strong sense of self-preservation alerted him to the imminent danger, kick starting his foggy brain into action, as he slowly started to force his heavy limbs upwards. He gasped when he broke the surface, only to dive down again when he saw Rolas and his men looking into the water. It seemed like an eternity, before the tall ship finally gave up the search and sailed away. John shivered with cold, wondering how long he had been in the water already, knowing survival rates only varied between 15 and 30 minutes exposure for those stranded at sea. As plans went, this was one of his worst. There were no other vessels in sight, the only silver lining being his body was so numb with cold his back no longer hurt.

Time passed slowly, and John saw the tall masted ship was now just a dot on the horizon. However it no longer mattered, for without help he was going to die here. The sun started to rise high in the sky and it reminded him of the sunrise in Atlantis, when its golden glow brought the elegant towering spires to life. He missed his home, his _family,_ and knew they would grieve for him, but hopefully not for long. John knew he didn't have much time left, because the shivering had stopped, and his legs were so heavy they could barely move. Sheppard hadn't intended to end his days like this, dying a pointless death, but at least he had denied Rolas the satisfaction of taking his life. John was so tired he just couldn't fight the lethargy any longer, his blurry eyes grew heavy and he couldn't stay awake any longer…

"There he is! Help me get him in before he drowns!"

John was confused and angry. Who was that? Why wouldn't they leave him alone? He'd had enough of life's struggles and _wanted_ to die. Whoever it was…did he know that voice? John wanted to be left to his fate and struggled against the hands grabbing him.

"Teyla…What's wrong with him? Why he is fighting us? Doesn't he know we're trying to help him?"

"He is hypothermic, Rodney. We need to get him into the jumper and over to Carson as soon as possible."

In a weak panicked voice, John gave a clue that he was vaguely aware of his friends for the first time. "No….nt… lantis… Mus…sty… sav…ro…un…"

Looking at his sick friend with frustration, Rodney replied. "Yeah, I get that, Sheppard. But you're the one who needs saving right now."

"John…it's Teyla. Try to relax and let us help you. We are not going back to Atlantis. Doctor Beckett is waiting for us on the mainland. He will take care of you, then we can all rescue Ronon together, so _please_ stop struggling, and everything _will_ be alright."

Finally John passed out, allowing Rodney and Teyla to drag him inside the 'jumper. Stripping off his wet clothes, Rodney saw the lacerations made by the whip. The scabs had been torn away by the impact of the jump, and the cuts were as raw and bloody as the day the whipping took place. He felt sick, and when he saw John's chest, branded with the number '5', the scientist started to gag.

"Rodney! Take deep breaths. I am as shocked as you are, but John is sick and he needs you to be strong to help him."

McKay nodded, and taking control of himself started to help Teyla gently dry their friend off, before covering him with emergency blankets. Satisfied he had done as much as he could, Rodney went to the pilot's chair, _Sheppard's_ chair, and sat down. Making sure the cloak was still on, he wasted no time in taking the 'jumper into the air, and set off back to the mainland where Carson was waiting for them.

* * *

If this was death, then why did it hurt so much?

John groaned as pain shrouded him like a fog. Every part of him ached and his back felt like the fires of hell were burning right through him. That had to be it…he was in hell. But if this was hell, then Satan was Scottish…

"C'mon, son. I want you to open your eyes for me, just for a moment, then I can give you something for the pain." _No response._ "John it's Carson…It's time for you to wake up now, there are people here worried about you."

"Crsun? I'm…nt…ded?"

"No, son. With the pain you're in you may wish you were, but I can do something about that. Now c'mon I know you're tired, but get those hazel peepers open for me."

That was easier said than done. It took all of John's concentration to open his heavy lids, but he was rewarded by a relieved smile from an old friend.

"Good, lad. You've been through quite an ordeal but you're in safe hands now. I'll give you something for the pain, but in the meantime there are a couple of people who are anxious to see you."

Sheppard felt Carson's good drugs dull the pain down to a tolerable level. But he was confused; why _wasn't_ he dead? How did he get here, wherever _here_ was? And who had rescued him? The answer to the last question was soon answered as Rodney and Teyla walked into the room.

His sleepy eyes smiled as he saw the faces of his friends…"Hi…gys"

Rodney couldn't stop grinning at first, but then he just looked pissed…"Hi yourself, Sheppard…some plan of yours _that_ was. Do you know you nearly died?"

"S…y."

Sheppard wanted to say more, thank his friends and seek answers to all the questions racing through his foggy brain, but they would have to wait for later…He was just so damn tired.

Teyla glared at Rodney. She knew he loved the man like a brother, but McKay could be so tactless at times.

"What Rodney is _trying_ to say, John, is that we are glad you are going to be alright." She swept his hair off his flushed face and smiled.

Beckett could see Sheppard was fading fast and took control. "Right, you've said hello and the man needs his sleep. So away with you and I don't want to see you, **Rodney, **back here until tomorrow. Am I clear?"

"Crystal! Do you know you're nothing but a bully, Carson?"

John smiled as he fell asleep listening to the banter of his friends. Wherever this place was, with his friends around him, he was _home_.

Sunlight streaming through a glass windowpane, warming his skin, brought him to awareness the next time. He was burning up, and the pain, which Carson's good drugs had dulled down, was back with whistles and bells. John could feel the sting of an IV in his hand, but if this wasn't Atlantis, where was he? Looking around, he found himself lying on a single bed in a small room with no Ancient tech in sight. But where was everyone?

As if on cue Beckett made an appearance, looking concerned. "How are you feeling this morning, Colonel?"

For once, John didn't think to lie."Hot…sore." Sheppard felt the thermometer go into his ear and then 'beep' a few seconds later.

"I'm not surprised, son. Whoever the bastard was that whipped you did a _good_ job. Some of the lacerations are infected, have been since the whipping I suspect, and you have a temp of 102. Don't worry, though. This may not be Atlantis, but I'll get you through this. I have you on broad-spectrum antibiotics and will top up your pain relief presently so you can get some rest. Sleep is the best medicine for you at the moment, and the next time you wake up, you'll start to feel better."

"Prom…se?"

Carson patted his arm and arranged the covers over his chest. "I promise."

Keeping his promise proved harder than Beckett expected. Sheppard's temp spiked at 104 and stayed that way for over twelve hours, before the pilot finally turned the corner. To keep him free from pain, Carson kept John under sedation for the next forty-eight hours, but the following day, much to everyone's relief, John's fever finally broke, four days after he was pulled out the water.

Sheppard felt shitty. Sore, hot and washed out. But compared to the way he'd felt the last time he woke up, _shitty _was a definite improvement.

"Hi, Carson."

Beckett came over, please to see his friend awake and looking better. "How are you feeling now, Colonel. A wee bit better I hope."

John's dry, sore throat made his voice hoarse._"Aye,_ Carson, a _wee_ bit."

The Scottish medic gave Sheppard a friendly glare."Very funny, Colonel. At least your sense of humour is intact." Beckett took a glass of water by the bed, and raised it to John's lips. It may have been tepid, but it tasted wonderful.

"I'm sorry, Carson. You know I'm kidding, I love your accent. And to be honest…I still feel like crap, but after everything that's happened I just feel lucky to be alive. Right now though, I really would like some answers."

"Something to eat first; a little broth, I think. Then I'll send Rodney through to answer some of your questions. But only for a short while, mind, as you have been very ill and still have a long way to go. You, Colonel, will have to be patient. Your body has sustained quite a bit of damage and needs time to heal."

Sheppard struggled with the broth, but knew the medic was watching, so, making an effort, he managed to choke half of it down. Beckett looked a bit disappointed at the half empty mug, but told John his appetite would improve. After topping up his pain meds, to take the edge off but not enough to make him sleep this time, Carson gave him a stern warning not to allow himself to get overtired, and eventually allowed Rodney and Teyla to visit.

As it turned out, there was not going to be a rescue from the Daedalus. On the way to Atlantis they had encountered a Hive ship and just got away with their lives. Fortunately, the crew had only sustained a few minor injuries, but the ship was badly damaged and at present was docked on Atlantis' main pier undergoing extensive repairs. The only consolation…the Hive ship was history.

When there was no word from Sheppard, and it became clear the Daedalus couldn't mount a rescue, Rodney and Teyla told Woolsey Baltron had _asked_ for assistance in establishing a medical centre. So, as they were both at a loose end at the moment, they wanted to go with Carson to help. The way Rodney told it, Woolsey didn't look as though he believed them for a minute, but he wanted his Military Commander and Ronon safely home, so he turned a blind eye and granted their request. The leader of Baltron council was then _approached_ by Beckett and, happy to get any assistance for free, allowed Carson to set up his clinic on the outskirts of the town. Once their cover was established, Rodney and Teyla started recon missions to trace their friends' tracking devices. When they couldn't trace them on Lorus, much to their surprise, both signals appeared more or less together on board a large ship. However, when the signals separated, Rodney got worried and as John's 'blip' left the ship behind, the cloaked jumper searched the area until they eventually found him in the water, looking half-dead, and face down in the waves.

By the time Sheppard finished hearing the tale he was exhausted, but grateful. How did he ever think he could rescue Ronon on his own? How often had he said there was no 'I' in team? What an ass he was…

John lay back against the pillows and through heavy lids looked at his friends "Thanks, guy's…and I'm sorry. I should never have left you behind. I was just trying…"

Rodney cut him off short "We know. You were just trying to keep us safe. But we're a _**team,**_ Sheppard, and what kind of team would it be with you dead, huh?" Rodney felt bad when John looked ashamed_._ "Look, you're tired. Get some rest, and when you're ready we can put our heads together and try to come up with a plan to rescue Ronon that doesn't involved getting branded, whipped and nearly drowning…deal?"

Beckett approached as he could tell by John's face; the man was struggling to stay awake.

"I think you have a deal, doesn't he, Colonel?" Sheppard nodded. "Now if you three are going to rescue Ronon, this one here needs to get well first. So leave the man to rest so Mother Nature can do her job."

Teyla came over and touched his head with hers. Rodney just waved as they went to leave.

Sheppard smiled at them both, grateful to have good friends like these, and happy to be alive. This time he'd got lucky, but next time? The fact remained although Rodney was right, he would still willingly give up his life for Ronon or any of his people. John was sure of one thing though, he had been given another chance, and this time he _would_ get Ronon back safely home to Atlantis.

TBC

Please keep reviewing, they really mean a lot and keep me writing!


	7. Chapter 7

Warnings: - Violence and a little bad language

Disclaimer: - Not mine, if only it was…

Thanks for the reviews, they really mean a lot and keep me going! Thanks again to my fabulous beta Shepsgirl72 who didn't mind checking my work while writing her own fic...you're a star!

WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 7

It felt good to have his boots back on again. Unless he was walking on soft golden sand or surfing the warm seas around Malibu, bare feet made him feel vulnerable, almost as if he wasn't _quite_ in control, which had certainly been true for the last few weeks. John's BDU was another matter altogether though. The cotton material rubbed against his damaged back, which although was healing well, still felt sore. Beckett had been right _as_ _usual._ The good doctor wanted him to wait a few more days to let his body heal properly, plus get more rest, but Sheppard felt the weight of Ronon's fate sit heavily upon him, and he was anxious to get on with the rescue and get his team home.

Despite putting their collective heads together, the plan when it came didn't come from either the brilliant mind of the foremost scientist in Atlantis, or from its Military CO. It arrived in the form of an invitation to Doctor Beckett to attend the next gaming tournament on Lorus from the grateful councillors of Baltron, as a 'thank you' for his medical services. Of course…no invitation from the corrupt administration came without strings, so Beckett was also asked if he would attend to the medical needs of the fighters after their bout in the ring. The peace loving Scot was outraged at first, and had been inclined to refuse, but even he realised this was an opportunity to get into the prison as a guest without the need for bloodshed. So, at the present time, a reluctant Beckett was aboard a clipper ship along with his _nurse,_ Teyla, headed for the Lorus penal colony.

The plan in itself was simple enough. John and Rodney would fly the cloaked jumper to Lorus and wait for Teyla and Beckett to arrive. Once there, it was Teyla's role to reconnoitre the area and identify the best way to enter the prison, since in Sheppard's case, the direct route was out as Rolas knew his face only _too_ well. As for Rodney, someone needed to stay with the jumper and provide backup, or in a worst case scenario a means to contact Atlantis if their plan went 'belly up'. Which John admitted to himself was a strong possibility, due to the way his luck had been going recently.

* * *

Lorus reminded Beckett of another penal colony, Alcatraz to be precise, just as bleak and with a cold breeze blowing, chilling him to the bone. But that was the only similarity, as it lacked the stunning views of San Francisco in the distance.

However, despite the inhospitable surroundings, Carson was never so relieved to get his feet back onto terra firma in his life. When he became a doctor all those years ago, healing himself was not really what he'd had in mind. Never in all his life had he felt so sick. No amount of Dramamine helped, and if it wasn't for Teyla who mopped his brow and took care of him during the worst of it, Beckett didn't know how he would have coped during the last few days. Him and his big ideas! Carson just hoped from now on in, everything would go smoothly and wouldn't involve him setting foot in anything other than a 'jumper in the foreseeable future.

Teyla was conspicuous of the fact she was the only woman who came with the delegation from Baltron. There were about fifty of them entering the colony, all men, from either the council or business community, with the obvious exception of Doctor Beckett and herself. Compared to most of the worlds she had visited, Lorus was totally bleak with nothing to redeem it in any way. A high, stark, four storey stone building with barred windows along the front, looked as though it was precariously perched upon the steep rocky terrain. There were no trees or foliage of any kind, and she couldn't even see where there would be a land mass flat enough to land the 'jumper. Teyla could only hope her friends were here, safe and ready to play their part in the plan.

As the delegation entered through the large wooden gates, the reception committee came to greet them, and it wasn't hard to guess which one of them was the man who had tortured their friend. The tall, blond, stocky man wore his arrogance like a badge of honour, making it clear to everyone it was he who held the seat of power on this rock.

Rolas was looking forward to a profitable weekend of gambling. His fighters were all in a reasonable state of health and Ronon's hand was much improved, so he would risk putting him in the final bout so as not to unduly damage his champion_. _However, by the looks of things, this weekend was already starting on a _very_ positive note. Who was this beautiful woman?

Teyla and Carson exchanged a knowing look as Rolas made a b-line straight for them.

"Good morning. I am Warden Rolas, in charge of this facility." Then, speaking to Beckett but looked at Teyla (,he asked,) "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

In a no-nonsense tone Carson stared right at him. "I'm Doctor Carson Beckett, and this young lady is my nurse, Miss Teyla Emmagan."

Rolas realised the importance of this guest, so the pursuit of his nurse would need to be done discreetly and in private at a later time. "Doctor Beckett! It is so good to have you here. I really hope you will enjoy the sport this weekend, and I do appreciate your willingness to take care of my fighters."

Carson hated fighting. Never had much time for gambling either, but he would have to play along for the time being. "Would you like me to look over your men before the tournament begins?"

"Thank you, doctor, but that won't be necessary. Why don't you allow me to give you and Miss Emmagan a guided tour before I show you to your quarters?"

This was just what Teyla was hoping for. Pushing aside her feeling of revulsion, she managed to give the warden a coy smile to keep him interested as they made their way inside, hoping to discover as much useful intel as possible to help with their plan.

* * *

The tour seemed to take forever as Rolas took his time, trying to impress them with the smooth running of his prison, the security in particular. Afterwards, it was time to dine with the other guests, so it was early evening before Beckett and Teyla could safely retire to the privacy of their quarters, without arousing suspicion.

Checking outside to make sure no one could hear, Teyla finally managed to make contact with Sheppard.

"John. Do you copy? This is Teyla."

"Teyla, it's good to hear your voice. Are you and the doc okay?"

"We are fine, John. Doctor Beckett did not _enjoy_ the voyage too much, however now he is on dry land his constitution is much improved."

Sheppard groaned inwardly…poor Beckett. "You okay, Carson?"

"Aye, now I am! Hope this bloody plan works, Colonel, as I'm not getting onboard another boat as long as I live."

John and Rodney shared a grimace. "Sorry, Carson. Teyla…what do you have for me?"

"The only entrance is on the ground level, Colonel. However there is an unbarred window on the first floor at the right hand corner of the building, which is located in an unoccupied area of the prison. It is about twenty feet from the ground, but I believe this would be the only viable way to get in. I have observed the guards patrol this area approximately once every hour, on the hour. After their last patrol, I opened the window and left it slightly ajar to allow you access. Once you get in, the main cell block is located on the second floor, but as far as I can tell the fighters where Ronon would be held, is on the third level."

"Fine, then that's where I'll go in. My plan is to wait until dark, then break into the prison later tonight." Even as he said the words they just sounded wrong…breaking _into_ a prison? "Make sure you stay in radio contact, and if something does go wrong, you don't know me. Do you understand?" He could hear his friends protest in the background. "I mean it…Sheppard out."

"So…given the _wonderful_ shape you're in, how exactly are you going to get through that window, Houdini?"

John was going to snark back at, McKay, but stopped when he saw the look of concern in his face.

"Well, you could always give me a lift in the 'jumper?"

Rodney gave him an exasperated look. "Excuse me? I am a scientist, _**not**_ a pilot! It's not that I don't appreciate your confidence in me, but we both know my talents don't go that far."

"I'll be fine, Rodney. It's not that high and the grappling hook should do the trick. Where did you put the pants I had on when you found me?"

John started to search the jumper

Rodney was puzzled. "Why do you want them?"

"Got them!" Sheppard reached deep into the pocket and produced the set of keys he'd taken from the seaman aboard the ship. "Great, I thought these might be lying on the ocean floor. Plan is, once Ronon and Belus are freed, I'm going to stage my own version of '_Prison_ _Break.'_"

McKay looked sceptical "How can you possibly think they will work on _all_ the prisoners in Lorus?"

"I don't know for sure, of course, but it's the same blacksmith who makes everyone's chains and I'm betting to keep it simple, it's the same lock for everyone. Anyway, my luck has got to start getting better sometime…right?"

It was still light outside, so Sheppard and McKay broke open MRE's and tried not to think of all the ways the plan could go wrong. Rodney managed to convince John to nap for a while, as the guy still looked beat. But sleep wouldn't come. Finally, under the cover of darkness, it was time to go. John took his leave of the 'jumper, giving McKay a grim smile as he went, making his friend promise if neither he nor the others returned in two hours, to leave immediate for Atlantis. Rodney nodded and watched as Sheppard headed off into the night, hoping that was one promise he didn't have to keep.

* * *

Beads of sweat dripped down his face as he slowly climbed up the outside stone wall. John's abused back ached under the strain, and his bruised ribs didn't enjoy the ride much either, but after what seemed like an eternity he reached the top. Gingerly looking over the windowsill, there was no one about, so as quietly as he could, John quickly climbed inside.

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, inwardly knowing that was the _easy_ part. But the next stage of the plan was much less straight forward. Taking the life signs detector which Rodney had recalibrated to locate Ronon's sub-cutaneous transmitter, Sheppard could see his friend's signal loud and clear. Teyla had been right, he was on the floor above. Holding his P90 with a firm grip in one hand, the detector in the other, John started to make his way up to the next level. From the top of the stairs he could see a guard on duty sat at a small desk just a few feet away. By the sound of the noise the guy was making, he was pretty sure the man was getting some shut eye. However, John couldn't take the chance on him staying that way, so with a sharp clip from his P90 to the back of the guy's head, he made sure the guard wouldn't wake up anytime soon. Sheppard caught him as he fell, and hauled him back onto his seat, posing him across the desk to make it look as if he was dead to the world.

As he walked along the dimly lit corridor, it was difficult to see the occupant of each cell. They were all in a row, with bars at the front, exposing the prisoners to the chill of the cool breeze which seemed to pervade the prison. From what he could tell, all of the occupants appeared to be asleep huddled in their bunks at the back for warmth. Quietly, John peered into each one, until he finally found his pal sound asleep in the second but last cell.

In the best stage whisper he could manage, he called, "Ronon! Wake up…It's me…John."

Ronon's grand escape plan had never materialised. So when he heard the voice of someone, a friend, who he thought was dead. He couldn't believe it. "Sheppard…is that you?"

"Yeah it's me…Who else would be breaking _into_ a prison in the middle of the night to rescue you?"

Opening the door to Ronon, the big guy grinned. "It's good to see you, Sheppard. I thought you were dead."

Remembering everything that had happened did not bring back happy thoughts. "Well…so did I for a while. But here I am, and we really _do_ need to get going."

"I'm sorry, John, but I told you before, I can't leave without Belus."

Sheppard jingled the keys. "Not expecting you to, buddy. Once you're both free, I plan to get _everyone_ out of here. Care to join me?"

The big man smiled. "Now you're talking…let's get out of here!"

Moving carefully from floor to floor to avoid detection was a slow but necessary process. Sheppard didn't want to take anyone else out unless they really had to, as too many _sleepy_ guards would bring unwanted attention. However his plan, which had been going well so far, seemed to be falling apart at the seams as Belus was still missing. John tried not to get annoyed when Ronon admitted to him he hadn't seen him since they were taken onboard the ship. But Sheppard knew the Satedan didn't want to leave without his friend, and he respected that, so he would be patient for a _little_ longer.

So far they had searched all of the cellblocks without success. "Okay, Ronon, where do you think he could be held?"

"Don't know. I thought we would have found him by now."

Sheppard stopped in front of his friend. "Ronon…It's been a while since you've seen him. Don't like to say this, buddy, but Belus may be dead…and we could be joining him if we don't leave now."

Rage flared in the Satedan's eyes. "No! Belus is only dead when I say he is. And that's not going to happen till I have taken this place apart. You can go if you want, but I'm not coming with you!"

John wasn't happy, but he knew what he must do. He activated his radio. "Teyla…It's Sheppard. I have Ronon, but we still haven't found Belus. I'm going to keep looking a while longer, but whatever happens, I want you to go the rendezvous point in twenty minutes, do you copy?"

Teyla saw her concern reflected in Beckett's face. "I copy that, Colonel. But can we not be of assistance?"

John smiled. Boy did he have a great team. "Thanks, Teyla, but no, I'd rather know you guys were safe. If there's a problem you can come back with the cavalry later…Okay?"

In a weary voice. Teyla reluctantly agreed. "If you insist. But be safe, John…Ronon."

There were only two other choices left open to them, up to the top level containing the staff and guest quarters, or down to the entrance which only contained a couple of large holding cells. It didn't make any sense for Rolas to hold Belus in either location, but as they were near the top of the building it was onwards and upwards.

Sheppard moved silently along the corridor with a sullen Ronon. He didn't like this at all. As this wasn't a cell block, there were no bars to look through, just solid, wooden doors, which gave no clue as to the room's occupants. Crouching down and listening by each one was nerve racking, but brought back memories of his college days at the same time. John inwardly smiled, as he remembered the last time he'd done this was to find out who had the best party on a Saturday night. Those were happy days... Dragging himself back to the present, he looked at Ronon. Belus was his friend after all, so who better to recognise his voice?

At the third door along, the big man stopped. John saw a look of uncertainty in his face.

When Ronon just stopped and said nothing, John asked. "Is it him?"

The Satedan shrugged. "Think so…can't be sure."

John's patience was wearing thin. "If you're not sure, we're _**leaving**_, Ronon…_**Both**_ of us."

Ronon pressed his ear harder against the door. "Okay, I'm sure…I'd know that voice anywhere. Belus was in my command. It's not the first time I've dragged him out of a bar, singing at closing time."

"Right…before we go in, is there anyone with him?"

"Don't think so." He saw John's pissed expression. "No…there isn't."

"Great…finally…Let's do this and get out of here!"

The two men drew themselves up to their full height and John handed Ronon his 9mm. Taking a deep breath they opened the door. Belus was sitting by a fire, obviously in good health, without a restraint in sight. John felt his 'spidey' senses go into full alert because this was just _weird_, but Ronon was too relieved to notice.

Belus looked scared. "Ronon…What are you doing here? It's good to see you looking so well my friend. Won't you and your companion sit down and share a drink with me?"

Ronon went over to hug his friend. "No time, pal. I'm getting you out of here like I promised. C'mon hurry up, let's go!"

Sheppard watched as the man got his stick and limped towards the door…something wasn't right_…_

"Ronon…I don't think your _friend_ wants to come. We should move **now!**"

Before either man knew what was happening Belus raised his stick at John, shouting 'guards' at the top of his voice. Sheppard grabbed a stunned Ronon by the arm and ran towards the stairs, just as two guards came to meet them. An enraged Ronon made short work of the men, broken wrist or not, and they fell unconscious to the ground. Running down the stairs, John began to think they might get away after all, when he was stopped dead in his tracks. There in front of him, grinning from ear to ear was Rolas. But he wasn't alone. Just off to the side were Teyla and Beckett, held fast by four large guards with guns.

Rolas was a surprised, but happy man. "Good evening, Mr Sheppard or should I say _Colonel,_ Sheppard? I must say meeting you again is unexpected, but a pleasure none the less."

John looked at the malicious gleam in the warden's eyes. He was so screwed…

TBC

* * *

Please keep reviewing, I love to know what you think and they do mean a lot!


	8. Chapter 8

Warnings: - Violence and some bad language.

Disclaimer: - Not mine, wish it was.

Thanks again for all the lovely reviews, they really do mean a lot. Again, many thanks to my wonderful beta, Shepsgirl72…you rock! As always all mistakes are mine.

WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 8

Sheppard believed in two things in life. One…Leave no man behind, and two…Whatever can go wrong usually will.

John knew people thought him to be a born optimist, and he was…sort of, but that was only because he believed in number '2'. Preparing for the worst case scenario meant he never left anything to chance, and always took extra care in planning every military operation, just so nothing…or at least nothing he could reasonably think of, could go wrong. But who would have guessed Belus would have sold out his friend?

He had never seen the Satedan so angry. If it wasn't for the guards holding him back, John was sure Ronon would have killed Belus on the spot. The look on his face when Belus told him he was only invited to Baltron as fighter fodder, was one Sheppard would never forget. Belus told Ronon he blamed _him_ for what happened to his leg on Sateda, while following his orders. The way Belus put it, Rolas needed fighters, and he needed the money. So in his mind at least, it made perfect sense to send for the best soldier he knew, and at the same time, get revenge from the man responsible for sending him into a building which then exploded, taking his leg along with it.

Rolas was amused at the heated exchange between the two men, but enough was enough and it was time to dispense some punishment to these prisoners. Finding Sheppard not only alive, but here in his prison, was more than he could have hoped for. The fact he was a military leader, did not daunt him in the slightest. This _prisoner_ had cheated him out of the sale of the boy, and humiliated him to boot, so now it was time to make him pay.

In a way, Rolas thought he should really thank Sheppard. Because instead of one scrawny child for sale, he now possessed a skilled physician to service the needs of his fighters, and a beautiful woman who would be worth a great deal in the slave market, after of course he had _tried_ the goods for himself. Holding the team's small radios in his hands, admiring their advanced technology, he considered himself fortunate indeed. It had been a spur of the moment decision to visit Teyla in her quarters just as the call from Sheppard ended. If he hadn't been there at the right time, all these treasures would have been lost to him. Yes, this was definitely turning out to be a _**very**_ good day and it wasn't finished yet…

Within minutes John and Ronon were chained up and led away. Sheppard saw Teyla and Beckett were also in chains, but otherwise appeared unharmed. Another plus…Rodney was nowhere to be seen, so hopefully rescue would come sooner, rather than later. His team looked bereft, so John smiled to reassure them, but they weren't fooled for a minute. They knew the warden was a sadistic man who hated Sheppard in particular, and knew with certainty, whatever Rolas was planning, it wouldn't be pleasant.

* * *

John laid his head against the rough wooden pole and shivered. It had been some time ago since he was chained to the pole and his punishment began, but he knew Rolas wasn't finished with him yet. Grabbing onto the chains around his bloody wrists John tried to pull himself up, but his rubber legs were shaking under the strain. Within minutes his limbs betrayed him yet again, leaving his abraded wrists supporting the dead weight he had become.

Sheppard knew the warden had been looking forward to beating the crap out of him, and he hadn't been wrong. Rolas did ask some questions. "How did you survive in the water?" And "Who helped you get into Lorus?" But for some reason the warden didn't like the answer, "I _swam,._" which earned him a punch to the gut. Like a whipping wasn't enough. However, much to his relief, Rolas **did** buy the story that he'd hidden on board the ship from Baltron, so at least the warden wasn't looking for Rodney.

For his part in the escape, Ronon was sentenced to five lashes of the whip. Where as he, mastermind and all round bad egg, was sentenced to ten. Both of them had been brought out into the enclosed, bleak stone courtyard at the same time. It was late at night, with a full moon casting an ethereal pale blue light across the prison, but it failed to soften the rugged building in any way. Set at the back of the yard was a stout wooden pole, with chains attached to thick metal bracelets at either side. The bright security lights shining down from the steep prison walls seemed to mock them, as they shone brightly on the pole, highlighting its purpose, almost as if they were going to be players, actors on a stage… _A very nasty stage with lots and lots of pain._

Sheppard watched as his friend was chained to the pole and lashed with a single long piece of thick leather, with four frayed knotted straps at the end. Ronon only grunted as the whip tore deep bloody lines across his back, but this time with his back still recovering from its last abuse, John knew without Torren as an incentive, he would most likely squeal like a pig.

Ronon was unsteady on his feet as they led him away. He looked at John as he passed, guilt written over his face. But Sheppard couldn't give him any comfort. Truth was, although he didn't blame Ronon for what was about to take place, he couldn't relieve him of the responsibility either.

Unlike Ronon's whipping, Rolas had decided to make his punishment last all night. So far he'd counted seven lashes, each one worse than the last, flaying his already tender skin apart as the whip seared into his back, sending pain like waves through his body. He really hadn't wanted to give Rolas the satisfactory of hearing his screams, but the last gut wrenching lash tore apart his resolve, as well as his back, releasing an agonised cry from his throat. John blacked out for a while after that, and he woke up alone, the cold air freezing him to the bone, but in a bizarre twist providing some relief to the fire that raged across his back.

He didn't have to wait long before Rolas returned with two guards. Wearing a self-satisfied smile, he made it clear to Sheppard he was enjoying watching him suffer.

"Guards…release him…and turn the prisoner around to face the front. I think your back's had enough punishment for now don't you, Sheppard? The last three lashes we'll place on the front…what do you say?"

"Go to hell, Rolas!"

Rolas just kept smiling as the guards released John's limp body from its current position, and under his instruction, moved him around to face the front with his torn bloody back against the pole. Sheppard couldn't suppress a groan, as the wooden pillar produced a new type of agony against his ripped skin, unable to resist when his right arm was chained high above his head. The guard then tied rope around his left wrist, and forced his arm horizontally across his chest. John could only watch and wonder, as the remaining rope was then wound around his waist and the pole, again and again, until he was firmly secured in place. Finally a leather collar was tied tightly around his neck, and secured at the back of the pillar keeping his body upright and his face forward, so he could witness his punishment first hand.

Sheppard guessed why Rolas had him tied like this, but could only hope for once he was wrong. John found it unnerving as he experienced a different perspective of the whip. He watched as the guard swirled it in the air, perfecting his technique, heard it 'crack' and witnessed for the first time the look of complete, focused concentration on the man's face as it was thrust towards him. The pain was excruciating as the leather bit into his skin, sending trails of fire across his arm and chest, but he couldn't scream as shock stole his voice, and his body quivered against his bonds as abused muscles went into spasms.

When the next strike broke his arm, Sheppard heard the bones shatter and knew this was Rolas plan all along. _Why? _Searing, agonising pain soon followed. It was brutal, leaving him sick and breathless unable even to groan. His vision blurred, but there was to be no relief as the last brutal lash forced him awake, scorching red hot flames from his shoulder down across his broken arm and chest, leaving four deep bloody trails in its wake. John no longer cared who heard the scream ripped from his throat, until thankfully the merciful darkness clouded his vision and oblivion soon followed.

* * *

Beckett wasn't a violent man, but as a doctor he was used to dealing with its fallout.

When he saw the deep bloody lacerations on Ronon's back he was angry but also mystified. Why did the man who ordered this punishment now want him to heal his victim? Carson supposed the why didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, for at least he was able to help his friend…not that Ronon wanted his help. For some perverse reason, unknown only to the big guy, he wanted to be left with his pain, didn't want to be healed. Beckett thought at first it might be shock causing Ronon to act this way, but there was something else, something deeper…_something_ he would get to the bottom of another time. If it wasn't for one of Rolas' guards holding him down, Ronon would still have been fighting him, but a well placed sedative finally took his friend to dreamland, and finally allowing him to clean and repair Ronon's wounds, including his broken wrist, without causing the Satedan further pain.

When Carson was finished, he expected the colonel to follow shortly afterwards, but when Rolas returned him to his cell he started to get concerned. Without Teyla there to divert him, he couldn't sit still and worried about his friend, knowing John was still recovering from his previous injuries. The scream when it came, seemed to reverberate around the building bringing back horrific memories of the time the Iratus bug attached itself to the (then Major's) neck. There was no way sleep would come after that, so when the call finally came just as the sun rose on another day in hell, he grabbed his bag, stormed past the guard, and hoped the damage wasn't as bad as he feared.

* * *

John could feel the painful tug of an IV in his hand, and a warm bed underneath him. _Atlantis?_

However there was no familiar beep of the heart monitor, but there was another distinctive sound nearby…snoring! As he peeled back his heavy lids and his eyes began to focus, he saw Carson sitting by his bed, dead to the world. The doc looked as beat as he felt, and suddenly memories of the whipping came flooding back. The pain so intense then, was still present, but muted thanks to the wonder of good drugs. Sunlight streamed into the small cell warming his skin, so it must be morning. Just how long had he been out?

Almost on cue, John saw Beckett yawn, stretch, and open his eyes.

"Hi, Carson…You okay?" John croaked, his mouth like sandpaper.

Beckett felt embarrassed, caught asleep on the job. "_I'm_ fine, John. How are you feeling?"

"Sore, but alive. I'll settle for that."

Carson went over to the small wooden desk at the side of the cell and poured out a glass of water.

"Just a few sips now, Colonel. You know the drill."

Sheppard was afraid he did, only _too_ well. "So, Carson," He looked at his splinted arm. "what's the verdict?"

"I've set the bones, but there's a fair amount of muscle damage. I don't have the facilities here to do the repairs, but once we get back to Atlantis, a trip to the theatre should sort that out. As to the lacerations, I've stitched the worst of them but with the amount of abuse your body's taken over the combined whippings…well, I'm sorry to say you will be left with scarring, plus the trauma and blood loss will leave you weakened for quite a while."

"Thanks, Doc. How's Ronon?"

"Good question. At first he refused treatment. Do you know why he would do that?" Carson thought he saw _something_ in John's expression, but now was not the time to pursue it. "Anyway, I've patched him up, but because he didn't sustain the same abuse as you, he should recover more quickly."

Carson could see sweat breaking out and the colour leaving Sheppard's face. It was time for a top up.

Drawing up more drugs, he deftly injected them into the IV. "Before you ask, Teyla was alright, too, the last time I saw her. It's **you **we're worried about. Now, the pain should ease up again in a few minutes and then I want you to get some sleep."

John smiled. "Yeah I know…'Sleep is the best medicine.'"

"You're a cheeky bugger, you do know that?"

Sheppard yawned, and his eyes started to close. "Wouldn't have me any other way, doc…would you?"

Carson watched his friend settle down into a restful sleep. "No, son, I wouldn't. None of us would."

Beckett pulled the covers over his friend, checking his vitals as he went. A noise by the bars, alerted him to the fact someone was there. When he turned around Rolas was watching him.

"How is your patient Doctor Beckett? He is going to live I hope?"

Carson couldn't believe the gall of the man."Yes he is. No thanks to you."

The look in Rolas eyes turned to stone "Now, now, Doctor. I hope you don't give me any cause to turn the whip on you? Anyway, the important thing I need to tell you is I want Sheppard in the ring tomorrow night."

Carson was enraged. "You've got to be kidding me! The Colonel won't be fit for anything but his bed for the next several days."

Meeting Beckett's angry glare "I'm sorry, Doctor, did I make it sound like a request? Well it isn't…Sheppard and Ronon _will_ be ready to fight when _I _want them to, or Teyla will face the consequences. Have I made myself quite clear?" He smiled when he saw the look of horror on Beckett's face. "Good man. I'm glad we understand each other."

Carson watched, stunned as Rolas walked away. What was he going to do? John couldn't stand, let alone fight. When he became a doctor he took an oath to "Do no harm" and if the colonel went into the ring like this, he wouldn't survive. But if he _didn't_ cooperate…well it was Teyla who would pay the price. _Damn_ _the_ _man!_ Rescue must come soon; it had to. Rodney had got away…hadn't he? So where the hell was he?

TBC

Please, please keep reviewing! I really love to know what you think and they keep me going.


	9. Chapter 9

Warnings: - Violence and some bad language

Disclaimer:-Not mine etc. I wouldn't have cancelled it if it was!

Thanks for all the reviews, they are what keep me going! A special thanks as always to my beta Shepsgirls 72 for sorting out my typos and grammer! All mistakes are mine.

WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 9

Beckett did the only thing possible a good doctor and friend could do under the circumstances. He kept Sheppard sedated right through until the next day, to give John the rest he needed plus keep him out of pain for as long as possible.

When morning arrived, John took the news without surprise. Rolas had promised him he would make him pay, and the warden was a man who kept his promises, at least where his punishment was concerned. Sheppard saw the concerned look on Carson's face. Both men knew he wasn't up to this, but what choice did he have? Something must have gone wrong in Atlantis, because rescue should have come by now, but John still clung to the hope Rodney would arrive with the cavalry before he set foot in the ring. However if it didn't, there was nothing else for it, he would just have to 'suck it up' for Teyla's sake, and hope he was still alive at the end of the bout for Carson to repair the damage.

The rough stone floor felt cold against his feet, as the guards led him slowly down towards the ground level and the holding cell. _Slowly_ was the only way he could walk, as the manacles around his ankles restricted his range of movement to a crawl, besides which, even with the painkillers Carson had given him, every part of him was so damn sore. When John reached his destination, he saw about twenty large, powerful men in the cell watching him approach with _way_ too much interest. Sheppard knew he was easy pickings at the moment, but adopted an air of bravado that belied his abused body. (Who was he kidding?)They all knew he was dead meat, and by the looks of things Sheppard wondered if he would even make it out this cell, let alone the ring…

As the guards pushed him inside, a group of about six men came towards him, a feral, hungry look in their eyes. Just when John thought his number was finally up, a noise from behind made them stop and make way for someone to approach…Ronon.

In the short time since coming to Lorus, Ronon had become used to life as a fighter, and knew the score by now. The law of the jungle was universal, the strong subdued the weak to show them their place, even killed them if necessary to make a point, or as an example to keep the others in line. While he certainly didn't consider Sheppard to be in that category normally, the front John had put on wasn't fooling anyone, let alone him. Right now with his stiff gait, pale gaunt face, and broken arm, his friend wouldn't last long in this place without protection, which only he, as Rolas champion, could provide.

The largest of the men called out to the Satedan. "You know this man, Ronon?"

Ronon turned slowly and with a flash of anger spoke. "He's a friend...Do you have a problem with that?"

Immediately the man, along with the others, backed off and melted into the dim interior of the large spartan cell.

Motioning towards the back of the cell, Ronon turned to John. "Sheppard…come with me."

John released the breath he'd been holding, and followed Ronon to the rear of the holding cell where there was a bench running along the back wall.

Ronon saw the strained look on Sheppard's face. "Sit down…before you fall down." John did as he was told, only too happy to oblige.

Trying not to flinch as his flayed back leant against the stone wall. "So…who am I fighting then?"

Ronon replied. "Don't know. Rolas doesn't tell us until it's time to go into the ring. Beckett told me about Teyla…is she okay?"

"Wish I knew, Ronon. Beckett hasn't seen her since the night we were caught. But if Rolas is using her as leverage, she must be alive at least."

Ronon sat down next to his buddy. He saw how badly beat up John was, and knew he had screwed up big time. Whatever happened, he had to try and make things right between them.

"I'm sorry, Sheppard, this is my fault. I should have left when you wanted to. Hell…you wouldn't even be here in the first place, if it wasn't for me and my _**friend. **_Look at the state you're in. And Beckett…Teyla…both here…in this _shithole _because of _**me! **_

John turned and saw the look of anguish in his eyes. He knew Ronon regretted his actions, but it was time for a few home truths.

"Yes, you should have left when I asked…no question about it. I took the same oath you did Ronon, but in planning any op, you have to weigh up the needs of the majority against the needs of the individual. And as much as I really hate to say it, sometimes you _have_ to leave someone behind, at least in the short term, to get other people to safety. But as for this being your fault…no it isn't. You're not responsible for the actions of a lousy friend or a sadistic bastard with a whip fetish. The fact is we all make mistakes sometimes, trust people we shouldn't, do things we shouldn't. What matters is at the end of the day we live to tell the tale, try and learn from it, and if we really get lucky we have people…friends to watch our back."

Ronon looked at John and a wry smile formed on his face. "You look like crap, Sheppard. Try and get some rest and I'll watch _your_ back."

"Thanks, buddy," John closed his eyes, "you always do."

* * *

The fighting arena was contained within a large concrete circle, easily seen by spectators seated within the larger semi circles surrounding it. Each area sat higher than the next, but all designed in such a way so even those seated at the highest level, nearest the dark grey stone ceiling, had an excellent view of proceedings. No decoration of any kind gave relief to the dark, dank, windowless space, except for the dim wall lights, and the blue and red flags on either side of the ring. These bright colours, which stood out in stark contrast against the grim interior, denoted the areas to place your bets, depending on which opponent you thought was most likely to be the victor.

Sheppard was alone in the cell. He really hoped Rolas had changed his mind about putting him to fight him today, but it wasn't likely. Ronon had been called to the ring a while back, and John hoped he'd be okay. Truth was, neither of them were fit to fight. Back on Atlantis, with these injuries, both he and Ronon would be tucked up in the infirmary, hooked up to some of Keller's good drugs and getting fussed over. He smiled…Atlantis. Never again would he complain about being kept in the infirmary again. The thought of a warm bed, heavy-duty painkillers and pretty nurses…

John turned as the cell door opened and a guard appeared. "Sheppard…you're up. Get a move on." _So much for the daydream._

The guard fastened a blue collar around his neck. "This doesn't match my eyes, fella. Don't you have another colour?"

"Just get moving."

Going out into the arena, he heard the noise of the crowd, and saw the last two unlucky opponents being dragged battered, and blooded to Beckett, who was positioned at the side entrance to the circle. As he passed by Carson, his friend looked up, and John didn't need to hear the words unspoken…_good luck._

John scanned the crowd looking for Teyla. After a long anxious moment he saw her, sitting beside Rolas and chained up like some _freaking_ possession. She smiled at him, trying to let him know she was alright, but he was enraged to see her treated this way. However, anger wouldn't help Teyla now. She was alive, looked okay, and would remain that way if he had anything to do with it. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Rolas coming towards the ring with his opponent. It was hard to see properly in the dim lighting, but the man looked familiar. No way…It couldn't be…_Oh, no…_Ronon!

A short bald man got up and shouted at the warden. "What the hell are you playing at, Rolas? Do you actually _expect_ us to wager on those two? Look at them!"

* * *

_The crowd started to heckle Rolas._

Rolas looked at the man and replied with a voice of pure venom. "Silence! You all seem to forget these men are prisoners, and have to be punished for their crimes. As to this match, what these men may lack in strength because of their injuries, they will make up for in determination, as this bout pits friend against friend in a fight to the death." Ronon and John looked at each other. "If either man refuses to fight, or even tries to take his own life to spare the other, then they will forfeit the life of one dear to both of them. In order to make it an even playing field, I even ensured both will be fighting one handed. So…what say you now? Is this a worthy bout or not?"

The warden got his answer as the men rushed down to make their wagers, while John and Ronon could only stare at each other in disbelief. Both men would give their lives for the other, but now one of them had to take the others life or Teyla would die.

Sheppard knew he didn't possess either Ronon's strength or ability even on a good day, and this wasn't one of them. He'd always hoped if he were to die in battle, it would be protecting his people… his friends. Well this wasn't a battlefield, and it was a friend _not_ an enemy standing before him. He really didn't want to die for other people's amusement. But in this impossible situation, he would rather it be him giving _his_ life, than for Torren to lose his mother. John gave Ronon a look that he hoped conveyed his wishes. _I'm too weak for this…it must be __**my**__ life. Take it, and get the others to safety. _

Ronon shook his head. He couldn't…wouldn't kill John. This was his fault…_**He**_ must pay the price for his mistake. But how could he get Sheppard to fight?

Rolas came back into the ring and handed both men a short wooden club. "These are your weapons, gentlemen. When I leave the circle, the bell will ring which will signal you to begin. The fight will only end when one of you is dead. If either or you attempts any trickery or kills himself to spare the other, I _will_ kill Miss Emmagan…make no mistake about it."

As the bell rang out the two Atlantean's came face to face with one another. Sheppard had one plan left, it wasn't a great plan, but it was better than nothing. In a low voice, John spoke. "Ronon, McKay must come soon. What say we make like we're sparring? Buy us some time, huh?" Ronon nodded, and the _dance_ began.

Just like in the gym back in Atlantis, the two friends sparred with each other in the same way they practiced with the Bantos sticks, making it look aggressive, but avoiding contact with their abused bodies at all costs. Sweat was running down John's face with sheer exertion, his body aching with each blow, each deflection. But he was tired and careless, so when a blow to his side brought him to his knees, John knew he couldn't keep this up for much longer.

The crowd cheered, excited by his pain, their thirst for violence evident in their chants. "Hit him…hit him again! What are you waiting for? **Kill** him!" Sheppard had killed many men. As a soldier it was sometimes necessary, but never pleasant. However, men like these, who'd never taken a life, or had to watch as the light left dead eyes, simply didn't know the pain it cost. Holding his side, he looked up and saw the hatred in their eyes…for men they didn't know, people who hadn't done them any harm…and despised them all.

Picking up the club, John rose to his feet. The dull ache in his side reawakened his senses, and he continued with the game until the crowd grew restless, their blood lust unsatisfied, till Rolas rang the bell

"Enough! It's time to stop this futile waste of time. Lay down the clubs. From now on its fists or whatever else you want to use, but the _real_ fight for this woman's life must start now!"

John flung his club down on the ground and faced his friend, hating himself for what he was about to ask, knowing it would cause Ronon more pain than him. "Look, Ronon…I'm exhausted, buddy…you must see I can't do this anymore? I want you to kill me and get Teyla and Beckett out of here. If you won't take it as an order from your CO, then please…take it as a last request from a good friend."

Part of Ronon knew John was right…but to kill his friend? "Sheppard…I…"

The bell rang and both men came forward. John saw the look of anguish in Ronon's face as he pulled back his good hand, forcing it into a fist. The blow, when it came, took his breath away, pain exploding through his chest as the sound of cracking ribs met his ears. Staggering on his feet, Ronon's splinted hand caught him behind his neck and held him close. Blow after gut wrenching blow assaulted his frame, tearing up his insides making him groan. Waves of agony seared through his chest until John felt something break deep inside and he knew the job was done…death was close…Teyla would be safe. Falling to the ground, eyes filled with pain met his. Then darkness came.

* * *

Ronon saw blood trickle from his friend's mouth, and heard the tell tale gurgle from his lungs. What had he done? Sheppard was lying here dying, by his hand…The crowd were jeering, but he was oblivious to it all. He couldn't hear anything, except the pounding beat of his heart thundering in his chest as he fell to his knees by John's side, unshed tears glistening in his eyes...

Rolas didn't care that the crowd felt cheated by the short violent assault. He had made his money and would finally get his revenge over Sheppard, but not until he was dead.

"Ronon…Finish him!"

As Ronon glared at Rolas, grief and rage threatened to engulf him, when suddenly there was a loud explosion.

The Satedan recognised the signs…rescue was here at last…but too late. Everyone started to run, Rolas faster than any of them, but Ronon couldn't leave Sheppard's side. Beckett appeared beside him, touching his shoulder. "Leave him with me, lad. I'll take care of him. Go after Rolas…it's what John would want."

Ronon knew it made sense, but didn't want to leave. He wanted, needed to be there with his friend. What _could_ he do for John? He saw his bruised, broken body and with a sinking heart knew he'd done too much already. Beckett was right, John would want Rolas to pay, but not just for him. He would make the warden pay for every whipping, every innocent imprisoned or sold into slavery, every injustice perpetrated by his brutal regime. Rage took over and with his aches temporarily forgotten, Ronon reluctantly left Sheppard's side, and ran to catch up with Rolas.

It didn't take Ronon long to find the coward, who was just outside the holding cells as he tried to flee the prison.

He grabbed the warden by the throat and started to squeeze…_it would be so easy to kill him here…now._ "I'm a gambling man too, Rolas. What odds would you give me to strangle you to death in the next five minutes?"

Like most bullies, without someone to protect them, Rolas started to plead in a choked voice. "Ronon…you can have whatever you want…money…power. You can have it all, but **please**…spare me!"

"Just like you spared the other fighters…my **friend**?"

The Satedan suddenly realised he was being watched. The bruised and blooded fighters had heard the explosion and were watching the scene in front of them with interest. "I'll tell you what, Rolas. I will spare your life and leave your fate to the men in there…What do you say?" Fear filled eyes looked back at him, but Rolas was too terrified to speak. "No objections…**Fine**!"

Ronon took the keys from the warden, opened the door to the cell and threw him in. He heard Rolas pleading, then screams filled the room. But he didn't look back; it was time to do what John had intended all along…set everyone free.

TBC

Hope you liked this chapter...Please review and let me know what you thought of it.


	10. Chapter 10

Warnings: - Violence and some bad language

Disclaimer: - Not mine, if it was it would still be on the box!

Thanks again for all the reviews, I really appreciate them. Also thanks to all of you who have shown your support by putting me on story alert and favorite story. Again where would I be without my fabulous beta, Shepsgirl72? I really appreciate your help in correcting my grammer, typos and for the helpful suggestions...you really do rock!

WEIGHT OF AN OATH

CHAPTER 10

There was no way he was going to let John die here. Not in this place, and certainly not on his watch.

Carson saw the broken body of his friend and remembered the first time they'd met, which started an extraordinary journey for both of them. As he noted John's decreased breath sounds on the left hand side of his chest, Beckett recalled nearly killing the (then Major) back in Antarctica. It was him who told John about the Stargate programme and the mission to Atlantis. And it was him, who after telling the tall, dark haired stranger about the rare gene of the Ancestors, who first saw the shocked look on the Major's face when he sat on the chair, bringing it to life in a way no one had done before. That day had changed John Sheppard's life forever, bringing him to Atlantis and forging their friendship still present today. No…He wouldn't let his fiend die, not if he could help it.

* * *

Teyla had spent the last two days separated from her friends. On the night of their capture, Rolas made clear his intentions towards her, however her response had earned her a slap on the jaw, and the time spent since, chained up in a cell.

When she saw her friends brought out into the ring to fight, Teyla was horrified. Both men had been whipped and John's arm broken. Neither was fit to fight, that much was certain, but what came out of the warden's mouth next left her stunned. To pit two friends, brothers even, against each other in a fight to the death over **her. **She would rather die first.

As the fight began it became reassuring familiar to her. However when John fell to his knees from a blow to his side, it was obvious he was tiring badly, and would not be able to keep up with Ronon's superior strength much longer. Teyla knew Rolas would not tolerate their deception, but prayed it had bought them enough time for rescue to come. When the warden stopped the charade, with still no rescue in sight, Teyla recognised the look John gave Ronon. The Athosian had seen it before during the siege on Atlantis, as John prepared to give up his life to destroy a Hive ship. On that occasion the Ancestors had seen fit to spare his life…but now? She tried to cry out, to stop this madness, but nothing could be heard over the blood lust of the jeering crowd. When Ronon's first blow doubled their friend in two, her heart stopped. The look she saw in the Satedan's eyes made her weep, as one friend held the other close, to make the brutal ordeal end as quickly as possible. But as John fell to the ground, death a heartbeat away, she really didn't know who was suffering the most.

When the explosion came, the crowd dispersed in fear. Telya took her chance and overpowered the guard, releasing herself from the chains. Running to Beckett's side, she saw the look of dogged determination in the doctor's eyes and prepared to help play her part in saving their friend.

* * *

Sheppard was going to be pissed.

Rodney did what he had been asked to do and left. Well…not quite when Sheppard wanted him to, but when no one arrived after another hour, he knew another _brilliant_ plan had gone belly up, so he reluctantly made his way back to Atlantis for help.

Who would have guessed Hermoid had been given permission to upgrade the 'gate as soon as he returned? The look on Woolsey's face spoke volumes when he appeared alone from the jumper. But by then it was too late to stop the over-zealous Asgard, for the work had already begun even before the jumper hit the bay floor. Rodney could have kicked himself. Why hadn't he reported to Woolsey on the situation before he went through the 'gate? Now the work was in progress, it couldn't be stopped for two days, or risk damaging the 'gate permanently. Two days in which he hadn't slept, eaten only enough to keep his hypoglycaemia at bay, and drank enough coffee to give him a perpetual buzz into the next millennium. But at least he was here now, along with Lorne and two other jumpers filled with marines. Rodney really hoped John was _pissed_, because that would mean he was alive and well, rather than the alternative.

Where were they? As Rodney followed Lorne into the building, he saw the four transmitter signals of his friends. One was on the far side of the prison, but the other three were clustered together in the large area just ahead. _Oh_ _no_…

Carson saw the cavalry coming and sent up a silent prayer to his maker. "Not before time! What the bloody hell kept you? I need a stretcher and portable oxygen. Get moving…Colonel Sheppard is on the clock here people. We need to get him back to Atlantis NOW!"

McKay stood stunned. John looked half-dead, actually more than that. He was too late...

"What happened to him?" _Stupid question, Rodney_. "Who did this to him?"

"I did." Ronon was standing behind him, a haunted look on his face.

Teyla saw the look of horror in Rodney's face and could not, would not, allow Ronon to take the blame for the actions of the real culprit for this crime."What has happened is not all it appears to be Rodney. And Ronon, this is **not** your fault…you must believe that. Explanations will come later, Rodney, but now we must all be here for John."

* * *

John coded on the way back to Atlantis.

The mood was sombre, the deafening silence only interrupted by the zap of the defibrillator, as stunned faces watched Beckett fighting to keep their friend alive. As Carson wiped the sweat from his brow, it seemed to him, for the first time ever, Sheppard had given up the fight to live. As he charged up the paddles for the last time, Teyla came over and placed her hand on his arm.

Kneeling by his lifeless form she clasped John's hand in hers. "John, it's Teyla. I am safe and free. You **must** fight…Atlantis needs you….We need you. Please, John…don't leave us like this." Teyla removed her hand and nodded to Carson. All eyes were upon him as he stunned Sheppard's heart and waited…A blip appeared on the monitor. It was slight, but still there. John was alive, for now at least.

Carson was exhausted, but Jennifer knew better than to suggest he left the surgery to her. Whatever had happened on Lorus, no one was saying, but Beckett would not leave John's side. Neither, though, did he refuse her offer to assist, only to whisper as he passed for someone to take care of Ronon. Keller recognised the symptoms of shock when she saw them, and nodded to Marie to tend to the injured man, but Ronon had other ideas. No one, it seemed, wanted to leave the colonel, but fortunately Teyla stepped forward, gently took his arm and led him into the infirmary, where she stayed by his side until he lost his fight with the medication, and fell into an uneasy slumber.

The sun was setting in Atlantis, its pink tinged golden glow shining through the infirmary window, as Lt Colonel John Sheppard was settled into intensive Care. His injuries were extensive, his ultimate survival uncertain, but John had made it this far, which in Carson's book was all he could hope for. Soon afterwards, Keller insisted he get something to eat and get some rest. Beckett knew Jennifer was right, but still couldn't leave his friend, so in the end a compromise was reached. Later, showered and settled in the adjoining bed, Carson set down his tray. It felt good to be clean and the bed, though not his own, still felt comfy and warm. Lying on his side the whoosh of the vent and the steady beep of the monitor told him all was well. Keeping his gaze firmly on his patient, he felt it safe enough to close his eyes, _just for a minute,_ and it wasn't long before the loud rumbling sound of snoring could be heard all through the ward.

* * *

A jumble of confused images ran through his head. The last thing he could remember was being on Lorus, talking to McKay, watching as Beckett tried to save Sheppard's life…John…The memory of what he'd done threatened to choke him…he _couldn't_ breathe.

"Easy, buddy… calm down…you're in Atlantis. Do you want me to get Keller for you?"

Ronon woke up with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. "What are you doing here, McKay?"

Rodney simply replied. "Couldn't sleep."

He turned and saw Rodney typing into his data pad. "Why aren't you with Sheppard?"

"I've already been to see him…John's holding his own. Did you know Carson's sleeping there? Seriously…haven't you _heard_ his snoring?"

Turning to his friend and teammate. "Did Teyla tell you?"

Rodney put down his pad and turned to look at Ronon. "Yes, she did. Look…Ronon, you're not the bad guy here. You were both put in an impossible situation. John was badly beat up and as CO he made the only decision he could make under the circumstances. As for you…I don't know if I would have the courage to do what you did."

The memory of John's blood on his hands came flooding back. The look on his friend's face, willing him to throw the killer blow…"You think killing a wounded man took courage!"

"Yes…I do...when it's the life of a friend, someone you care about. Look, big guy, John is still alive and we all know he has beaten the odds before."

"And if he doesn't…tell me, McKay, how am I going to live with that?"

"I don't know, Ronon. What I do know is Teyla is alive because of what you did… what you both did. If you want to blame anyone, blame that sadistic SOB Rolas, or blame me…It's partly my fault the rescue was late. Whatever happens, Ronon, John trusted you to do what he asked, and he wouldn't want you carrying around the guilt for his death…Whatever happened to Rolas anyway? Did you kill him?"

"No…I wanted to. But I know Sheppard doesn't believe in killing someone in cold blood, so I didn't."

Rodney was curious. "So…if you didn't kill him, where did he go?"

Ronon turned to Rodney with a gleam in his eye. "Last time I saw Rolas I pushed him into the fighters' cell. Figured those guys might want to settle a few scores of their own…didn't see him after that. What happened to the prisoners I freed?"

"Lorne's _taxi_ service took them back to the 'gate, and stood guard till they left, just in case anyone in Baltron tried to stop them." Ronon nodded, satisfied, and lay back against the pillows. "Right…Anyway, you need your rest and I need to eat. Do you want me to bring you anything back? Jell-O? DVDs?"

"Thanks, McKay…could you bring my Dirty Harry DVDs?"

Rodney got up to leave. "I don't get the man myself, but sure I'll bring them. We can watch them together, and I'll bring popcorn. By the way…did I tell you it's good to have you back Ronon? The place just wasn't the same without you…too quiet."

When no answer came, Rodney saw Ronon was asleep. He felt ashamed when he remembered his reaction as the Satedan told him he'd beaten John. What an idiot he was! How could he have believed Ronon would do such a thing, especially to Sheppard of all people, without a very good reason. McKay couldn't imagine how his friend would cope if Sheppard died. But that was crazy talk. This was Captain Invincible he was talking about. At least he hoped it was…

* * *

Woolsey came to visit his Military CO and was shocked at the state of the man. Dr Keller had told him Sheppard underwent surgery for a punctured lung and a lacerated spleen, but the surgery had gone as well as could be expected. However combined with his other injuries; a broken arm, broken and cracked ribs plus lacerations over most of his torso, the colonel was severely weakened. The doctor advised him although they were hopeful of his ultimate recovery, it couldn't be guaranteed.

Richard, knew for a diplomat, his bedside manner was dreadful. The truth was he had never liked hospitals, was uncomfortable spouting forth the tired platitudes one used when visiting the sick, and always made a point to put off visiting even his nearest and dearest, until he was embarrassed into it. But looking at John Sheppard now, he wished the man was responsive and well enough to hear those platitudes, and looking at the machines keeping him alive, he gained a new respect for the brilliant medical team in Atlantis. By the looks of things, if this had happened anywhere else, Sheppard would surely have died.

The least he could do was sit for a moment. Listening to the steady beep of the machines he started to feel himself drop off, so decided it was time to go. Getting up to leave, he turned to look at Sheppard, startled when terrified hazel eyes caught his…John was staring to gag!

"Try to calm down, Colonel. You're on a ventilator."John seemed to understand and his heart rate slowed. "That's it…slow, easy breaths…Just hold on and I'll get someone to help you."

Woolsey tried hard not to panic. "Dr Beckett! Dr Keller! Anyone?"

Carson heard the commotion and came running. When he saw John awake he said a silent prayer. "Well…so you've finally decided to join us have you Colonel? How about I make you more comfortable and take this out? Now you know the routine by now. One deep breath, as much as you can manage, and I'll pop this out for you…Ready? One…Two…" And the vent was out. "Don't try to talk, son. Your throat will be sore for a couple of days." Beckett patted his arm. "I'll be right back with some ice chips."

Last thing John remembered Ronon was beating the crap out of him on Lorus. Man did that hurt…What had happened? How come he was still alive? And why was Woolsey sitting by his bed and not his team… were they alright? He must get out of here to find out. "Aghhh.."

Carson rushed back. "Easy, John, try to lie still. You have just been through major surgery. It was touch and go for a while there, and you're not quite out of the woods yet. The good news is I think you'll live to turn my hair grey, the bad news…you'll be in a lot of pain for a while yet." Taking a syringe and pushing it into the IV. "This should help with that shortly and allow you to rest. Once I see you settled, Mr Woolsey and I are going to tell your team they won't be needing a new CO for a while yet. Aren't we, Mr Woolsey?"

John's heard the word team, knew everything was okay, and started to relax. So he'd made it after all. _How about that?_

Woolsey was relieved and for once happy to visit a patient. "It's good to have you back, Colonel. Atlantis missed you, and so did I." _Perish the thought I would have to deal with Caldwell_… "Sleep well and do what Dr Beckett tells you, I'll drop by to see you later."

* * *

Drifting somewhere between asleep and awake, John heard the familiar clack of computer keys. He opened his mouth to speak, but even that simple movement awakened a fire in his gut and he could only groan.

"Carson! He's awake!"

Settling back into the covers, John croaked, "Thanks, Rodney…I can now add deafness to my list of injuries."

"Sorry…but you're in pain right? Just trying to get you some help. Carson…I think Sheppard needs some more of your 'good' drugs." Beckett saw Rodney _flap_ and smiled. He knew the scientist was worried about his friend. What had happened to the self-centred scientist who arrived in Atlantis five years ago?

"I'll take care of it, Rodney. How are you feeling now, Colonel? Describe the pain to me as a number between 1 and 10, and don't say you're 'good' because we both know that's a lie."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Carson. I feel like crap, and the pain's about an '8'." John shuffled in bed and groaned. "Okay…maybe an '8.5'."

"Good, lad, honesty is the best policy. Give this a minute," he pushed a syringe into his IV, "and you'll soon start to feel a bit easier."

Rodney turned to look at Beckett. "Seriously, Carson, where do you get that stuff 'Honesty is the best policy'. Do they give you a manual of trite phrases in medical school?"

Carson didn't even look back at Rodney while continuing to check John's vitals. "I'll treat that with the contempt it deserves, wont I, Colonel?"

Sheppard smiled.

Rodney snarked. "There's another one! Honestly, how many more of those do you have?"

Sheppard watched his two friends bicker with amusement. It was good to be home. But he was so tired… The pain was starting to go down a notch or two, and he could really use another nap.

Both men turned and saw John was asleep. McKay looked at his friend with concern."Carson, is he going to be alright?"

"Aye, Rodney. He's got a long recovery ahead, but I think so. Look, Teyla called to say she is coming down to sit with the Colonel, so how about you and I go for some lunch?"

"Sure. Why don't you get your handbook on the way so I can learn some of those phrases for myself?"

"Very funny, Rodney. Isn't it time for your vitamin shots?"

Rodney panicked. "I'm only kidding. You know that, right?" Carson started walking away. "C'mon, Carson, you can have my dessert!"

* * *

All John seemed to do was sleep. Sometimes he would wake up and Rodney was there, typing away. He would start to listen about the news in Atlantis, and in the middle of the conversation he would drop off again. Sheppard was pretty sure McKay _was_ starting to take it personally, but as much as he hated to admit it, Rodney wasn't _that_ boring. At other times he awoke to Teyla sitting by the bed fussing with his covers, or playing with Torren. Regardless of who came to visit, he just couldn't seem to stay awake longer than thirty minutes at a time. Beckett kept telling him it was perfectly natural, his body had been through several massive traumas, and it was only to be expected he would take longer to heal than normal. However frustration made him agitated. Part of him knew he was lucky to be alive, but he knew deep down, things would never be right until he squared things with Ronon. The problem being, despite being in the infirmary for ten days now, the man in question still hadn't come to visit.

Beckett wasn't daft. John didn't mention Ronon's absence on 'Sheppard Watch' once, but everyone else had. Only a few people knew what had happened on Lorus, so the medical staff and some of the marines were puzzled by the Satedan's absence, and were starting to talk. Carson wasn't bothered about the gossip, but he was concerned about the welfare of his patient. John wasn't healing the way he should, and he was pretty sure the unresolved issue between the two best friends was at the heart of it. It would take some particularly _sneaky_ behaviour on his part, but a plan was forming in his head.

Ronon sat on the bed gripping the sides, as Carson changed the dressings on his back.

"Well, the lacerations are healing up nicely now, and the infection seems to have gone, so I would say you should be back to light duties in a week. But I still want you in for wound checks every day until then just to be sure…and **no** sparring okay?"

Ronon put on his shirt. "Okay, doc. Thanks."

Marie walked towards the men. "Where are you going, Marie? I need your help with Colonel Sheppard."

"I'm sorry, doctor, but Dr Keller needs me to help in surgery. Alice has taken unwell."

Beckett looked frustrated. "Isn't there anyone else?"

"Susie has gone off world to help Dr Cole vaccinate the children on PZ9129, and Monica isn't back from lunch."

"Very well then, I hope the lass is alright." Turning to Ronon, he asked, "Could you help me, son? It won't take long and doesn't really need a nurse. It's just that Colonel Sheppard can't sit up on his own yet, and I need to change the dressings on his back."

Carson thought for a minute the Satedan was going to refuse. "Fine. Let's do it, so I can get out of here."

As they walked towards the bed, John was just waking up from yet another nap. If he was surprised to see Ronon coming toward him, he didn't show it. In Beckett's hands was a metal tray with fresh dressings.

"Hi Doc, Ronon. It's that time again I see. Where's the nurse?"

"Sorry, Colonel, they're all busy I'm afraid, so I asked Ronon here if he could help." The Satedan didn't say anything, but wore a sullen expression that spoke volumes. "Right, Ronon, if you put his legs over the side of the cot first …That's it; now help me get him upright, easy…good!" Beckett and Ronon went to either side of Sheppard and slowly eased him up until he was perched on the edge of the bed facing Ronon. "Now hold him steady with your hands on his shoulders, while I get you, Colonel, something to take the edge off the pain before I start_._"

John was exhausted and achy. Even with someone doing all the work, he was wiped out. But at least Ronon was here at last." Are you okay, Ronon?" Sheppard looked at the stubborn set of his friend's jaw.

"Yeah, Sheppard, I'm just _fine. _It's not me who needs someone to hold him up."

John was determined not to keep his friend against his will. "Leave if you want…I can manage. It's just Beckett being cautious." As Ronon started to move away, John listed to the side.

Resigned, Ronon steadied Sheppard. "Yes I can see _that_." _Where the hell was Beckett?_

John caught Ronon's eye." I'm sorry, Ronon, for what went down on Lorus…I really am. But if I had to ask you to do it again…I would."

Barely concealed anger threatened to consume the Satedan. "What gave you the right to make that choice? I would have died for Teyla as well…But oh no, it had to be you, the _great_ John Sheppard, Military CO, sacrificial lamb and everybody's hero!"

John felt fragile, but he still gave Ronon a steely look. "It's because I _am_ your CO I made the decision. On that day, Ronon, I _was_ the weaker man. If one of us hadn't become the sacrificial lamb as you put it, Rolas would have killed Teyla and I couldn't have allowed that. Under normal circumstances I would never have asked anyone to do what I asked you to do. For what it's worth, it took more courage to kill me, or try to…than it did for me to give my life. If it makes you feel any better, if the situation was reversed, I would have taken your life instead."

"Oh, you think so Sheppard? Even on a bad day, do you really think I wouldn't be able to beat you?"

Ronon saw Sheppard hold back a smile and laughed. "You really are a SOB."

"Are we _good,_ Ronon?"

"Yeah, Sheppard…we're good." The Satedan looked down at the number 5 on his chest. "What are you going to do about that?

"Thought I'd keep it for now. Remind me of the team. You, Rodney, Teyla, Beckett and Me."

"You're kidding…right?"

"Duh…of course I'm kidding! The doc says I'm not strong enough for a skin graft at the moment, but yeah, it's going."

Ronon saw Beckett approach. "Here comes that sneaky bastard Carson now."

"Excuse me…did I hear my name mentioned? I can't help it if I have no staff, can I?"

A wry smile passed Carson's face, and as he began to push some pain killers into the IV, John touched his arm

"Thanks, Carson."

"It's my job to ease your pain, son."

John gave him a knowing look. "And so you do…in more ways than one. You're a good friend."

Over Ronon's shoulder, John saw the rest of his team approach and smiled. He felt weak and in pain, but right now, amongst his _family_ John felt good. Watching as Ronon snarked with McKay, he knew there were still some bridges to be repaired between him and the Satedan. Too much had happened on Lorus for things to be back to normal overnight. However with his friends' secure grip on his shoulders, supporting him, keeping him safe, John knew the healing process for both him and Ronon had began.

THE END

Well that's it done and dusted! Hope you liked it, and again thanks to all of you for your support. But could I ask one last thing? Please, please review and let me know what you thought of the story and the ending. It helps me know what you guy's like (or don't), and gives me encourage to keep on writing.

Thanks again

J.


End file.
